Those Who Waited
by kkshootingstar
Summary: Merlin waits for Arthur. It's his destiny, his promise. But he doesn't go through all those centuries alone—not completely. There are positives to this time, as slowly Merlin learns to finally accept rewards for everything he has done. This takes time, since he deserves the great rewards that aren't in the easily recognizable form of knighthood and handshakes and gold.
1. Summary

Merlin waits for Arthur. It's his destiny, his promise. But he doesn't go through all those centuries alone—not completely. There are positives to this time, as slowly Merlin learns to finally accept rewards for everything he has done. This takes time, since he deserves the great rewards that aren't in the easily recognizable form of knighthood and handshakes and gold.

 ***A/N I wrote this fairly quickly, without that much editing or planning, so I apologize. I do hope to edit and better flesh it out later, but for now, I still hope you enjoy!***


	2. Part One

Part One: mid 6th century

The Battle of Camlann has ended, both Morgana and Arthur have died and left Merlin and others to mourn. Still, with Guinevere as queen, Camelot must live on.

The legend of King Arthur is most often speculated to have taken place around the 5th or 6th centuries. For the timing purposes of this story, the end of Arthur's life, as depicted by BBC's Merlin, is in the middle of the 6th century.

**I'm putting these little blurbs at certain parts because I wrote this story fairly quickly, so there's little editing. Also, later I do more heavily reference certain times & events, and while I did some research, the times may be a bit confusing. These are just a few sentences, but feel free to research more yourselves!**


	3. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The Girl in Ealdor**

Merlin stood leaning into the tree's shadow, watching the villagers peacefully living out their lives without being easily spotted. There was, undeniably, a hush in the air, a certain sadness that was not overbearing but still present. Of course it was. The villagers who wandered nearer to the forest didn't show any signs of addressing it, but Merlin knew it was there. He hoped it would never completely leave. Arthur deserved to be mourned for a long time. Forever, maybe. At least for Merlin.

Swallowing the grief, as he'd learnt to the past three years of lonely wandering, Merlin walked down the shallow slope separating the trees and the low, wooden and stone fence of the village. He couldn't return to Camelot, he didn't have the strength to face Gwen or Leon or Percival, knowing he'd failed and let their loved ones and friends die. Nor did he have the strength to face the many ghosts of memories of…of him, haunting the castle. He knew by not returning, and without even sending word of this, he was breaking Gaius' heart, but he couldn't go home to Gaius with his destiny failed—his favorite soup just wouldn't cut it. Perhaps, as Merlin was going to do now, word would still reach Gaius of his safe return home.

Home. He wasn't quite sure where that was now. It wasn't Camelot, but it wasn't this village, Ealdor, either. But his mother was here, his mother who always had and always would love him and take care of him. He needed someone who didn't know all the details of his destiny—now failed—or his life in Camelot, and who wouldn't ask questions. He wasn't sure if those at Camelot would throw him looks of hate and disappointment and disdain, but he couldn't be sure. At least here he could be.

Mechanically, he rose his loose fist to knock on his mother's door. See, it isn't home, he has to knock. The door swung open before he could, which did actually surprise Merlin as he quickly stiffened his arm so he wouldn't smack whoever had opened it in the face. A girl looking about his age, if not a bit younger, stepped out, shoulders square and step confident—and straight into him. Two undignified 'oof's mingled in the air as he raise his arms above his head instinctively, and hers curled upwards to her chest to protect the bundle she was holding. The top of her head barely brushed his chin, which he tucked down to see her once they'd stilled.

"Sorry," her voice tossed as he blinked and she was already stepping around him and half running down the street and around a corner. All he caught was a flash of messy, dark hair and a simple, dirtied dress. Shaking his head, Merlin turned and stepped as if to go after her. For a wild moment he wondered if he was at the wrong house—or even the wrong village. Then, a woman came to the door, and ran into him as well.

This time, the woman's arms wrapped around him tightly, and her bun and handkerchief smothered his nose with his mother's scent as he held her. He felt his body shake in her arms, but no tears came. He didn't have any more tears. Nevertheless, she felt them and held him, pulling him gently inside as she did.

Two days later, once his mother was finally satisfied with his appearance—apparently it showed that he had not been eating much, or paying any attention at all to himself—he left the house to wander about the village. He planned on staying for a while, he might as well make himself re-acquainted with the people and see what work he could find. Everyone had a purpose here, farming or cleaning or helping the elderly or looking after children, or something. Most people remembered him, and it was nice to not be treated as a complete stranger. Rather, many welcomed him back.

Now, in the late afternoon, he had wandered a few minutes into the forest where a small pond was, one that he and Will used to sneak off to and play by every day. Merlin needed time to himself, time to think and to remember.

"Oh, it's you again," came a voice, a girl's voice. Despite the remark, the tone wasn't unkind, rather just slightly surprised. He turned and looked over his shoulder to see a girl about his age with a messy mane of dark brown hair and wearing a simple, light brown dress. The dress was torn and dirty, both from constant wear and—judging by the majority of the tears being at the hem or arms—reckless behavior. There were a few twigs in her hair, which added to that theory.

He recognized her vaguely. "Yeah," he nodded, forcing a small, awkward smile. "I'm Merlin, I'm back."

"I know," she nodded, looking amused. "I've heard all about you. You're Hunith's son, went off to Camelot. The whole village has been excited you're back, and there's rumor you're a sorcerer too. An accepted one." Merlin felt something stab at his heart. His mother had told him a bit about news from Camelot, as much as he could bear to hear. Queen Guinevere had married Sir Leon, and they were ruling together. Hunith knew personally that Gaius—since she had written to him, explaining Merlin, and the two were keeping in touch—had told Gwen about Merlin's magic, and destiny with Arthur. She had immediately lifted the ban, and apparently announced that "a powerful sorcerer and forever treasured friend of the royal family" was particularly to thank.

He just nodded. She bit her lip and glanced back over her shoulder, where the village lay beyond the trees. Merlin didn't want her to go. "What about you, then?" he asked, trying to keep the fresh pain out of his voice. Nevertheless, she tilted her head and her blue eyes softened.

"Name's Susetthe," a tiny smile appeared, and she stepped closer as she spoke. "I came here about a year ago, and was taken in by one of the families here. They used to have a son, Will. That's how I've heard so much about you," her voice was soft as she finally sat next to him, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms loosely around them.

"Will died," Merlin whispered, more to himself. She nodded. "We used to play here every day. We were best friends, and he was one of the first to realize my magic. The last thing he ever did was protect me."

"I wish I'd met him," she said, equally soft. The two sat in silence for a while, just watching the forest around them, each consumed in their own thoughts. Merlin was, as usual, thinking through all his years—almost a decade—in Camelot. All the people, the friends, the triumphs and failures, the knowledge and secrets and everything else. He hoped Gwen was happy; he wasn't bitter about her marriage to Leon, that it was somehow betraying Arthur, because it wasn't. She needed to keep Camelot strong and peaceful, as Arthur would have wanted. That is what Arthur gave his life for. And Gwen was keeping Arthur's legacy in such a great kingdom, as both the knights and people had sworn loyalty to her without hesitation.

After a while it began to grow dark, the sun having set, so Merlin stood and wordlessly helped his new friend—Susetthe—to her feet. Perhaps she would be a new friend. She seemed to understand that he wasn't quite ready to break his silence yet, so she walked with him all the way to his door, then smiled, shook his hand—Merlin nearly chuckled at that—and turned back to go into Will's house. She stepped in, as Merlin watched, with a soft smile on her face. He was glad she was happy there, and he hoped Will was happy too.


	4. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The First Story**

Merlin found a rhythm within a month, and it carried on many months after. His mother still had their farmland, so he helped with it the majority of the day. It felt good, going back to his beginnings like this, and he did not think he was above it because of his power in the least.

When he wasn't helping on the farm, he was studying and practicing magic, or reading the books (on both magic and science) Gaius was steadily sending in. In those books, Merlin had found a clever little spell that allowed them all to be contained within a small pouch no larger than his fist, and only when pulled out of which did they return to their normal size. Quite handy, really.

Once a month, he left for a few days to visit Lake Avalon. Only his mother—and Susetthe, when she attempted once to follow him—knew exactly where he went, the rest of the village just thought he went for supplies and to see the markets. Susetthe did not know why, however. Every month, he went, and camped out two days and one night on the shore. Just to check, just to make sure. But he never rose, and Merlin knew he really didn't need to. Albion was ruled in peace, it was strong, there was little danger.

Any other time he had, he played games and spent time with Susetthe and the four others in the village around their age. Well, he supposed at around twenty, they were all really young men and women. As much as he enjoyed Lillian, Ainsley and her twin brother Aiken, and Rowanna, he still went to the pond almost every evening alone. Although, many times, Susetthe did follow him, being the only one gutsy enough to do so. At first, it was a bit annoying because he wanted to be alone, but after a few times he learned that she was far more compassionate and empathetic than she seemed and that he actually enjoyed having some company so that he did not completely lose himself to misery. She never asked him to tell her more, and he did not speak of his relationship or memories with Arthur. He never told anyone.

In fact, he had been in Ealdor for a total of eight months before she even told him the sad details of her past. She'd already spoken of the many places in the five kingdoms—before they became Albion—that she'd visited, but she'd never spoken of family or why she was here now. Even knowing so little, Merlin already knew he had developed—and probably showed, if his mother's amused looks were anything to go by—a certain preference for her company.

It was two weeks after he'd caught Susetthe trying to follow him to Lake Avalon, and the two sat side by side in the dusk by the pond. Her eyes were downcast, fingers toying in her lap as her legs were straight out before her. Merlin's position was the same, but he leaned back on his arms. He'd been rather cold to her since he'd returned, so he understood her silence now. He had found her here.

"I'm sorry for following you," she began. "I was just curious, and you always seem sad when you return. But, I know, I should have let you be." Her voice was quiet, respectful but not regretful. He found himself all right with that.

"I forgive you, sorry for the distance lately," he half-grinned, trying to make her feel better. She answered it with a small smile, meeting his eyes through her lashes. The two sat quietly, listening to the forest around them and just looking at each other.

"I had a brother," she began, looking back down at the pond's shining surface. Merlin kept quiet, staring intently. "He was eight years older than me. Our parents died about thirteen years ago from sickness that infected our village, so he took me and we left as fast as we could—we didn't want to become ill as well. I was seven, he was fifteen." Merlin nodded.

"After that, we traveled around, always moving and never staying in one place. We both worked a variety of quick, temporary jobs for six years, trying to make enough money to feed ourselves and get a room for a night or two, before we'd move on.

"As we got older, he started drinking and gambling, so he spent a lot of time in the taverns while I worked outside. It wasn't bad, he became very good at fighting and gambling so actually we made more," she chuckled. "Six years we traveled around, it doesn't sound ideal but it was actually very fun. He did always try to keep my presence, or at least relation to him, secret as he got into the taverns. That way, when stupid men grew angry at him, they would fight him and leave me alone," she smiled softly.

"Then what?" Merlin whispered.

Her smile widened. "Occasionally he'd disappear for a few days at a time, saying he had to help a friend. That was only a couple of times. And then he became a knight, personally favored by King Arthur himself." Her eyes shone with reverence, tone soft and admiring. Merlin couldn't help but smile at the obvious love and pride for her brother. Then, it disappeared. Her smile fell and her shoulders slouched.

"He died fighting for King Arthur at Camlann. Apparently, by Morgana herself," she said flatly. She nodded weakly. "At least, none could ask for a more honorable, courageous death. I will be proud of him until the day I die."

"Many died that day," Merlin choked out, throat thick as her story struck so many nerves he felt as though he were being stabbed in the heart, the blade white-hot and twisting. She nodded. Through the pain and the sorrow and the guilt, something stirred. "What was his name?"

Her smile was wobbly, but genuine. Her voice shook as she answered, but she spoke it with volume. "Gwaine," her smile strengthened. "Sir Gwaine of Camelot."

Merlin bit back the sob with so much force he truly thought he would throw up. He'd come to Ealdor to escape his past in Camelot, yet all this time, staring him right in the face, was yet another who had been wounded and forever scarred by his failure. If he had just killed Morgana sooner, even listened to Kilgarrah when he urged it all those years ago.

"I am sorry," he whispered, seeing her smile strengthen another small fraction out of the corner of his eye.

"It's not your fault, and I know that he'd much rather he went that way instead of sleeping—or in a tavern brawl—but thanks," she said, so easily. She didn't understand that Merlin was apologizing for so much more. Her eyes narrowed and she twisted so her whole torso faced him. "Did you ever pass him? You were both in Camelot for some time."

Merlin looked at her, taking in her wide, honest light eyes and thick, tangled dark hair. Looking so much like Gwaine, yet sweeter and more innocent. "Yes," he whispered. "I knew him, he was incredible." That was all he could bring himself to say, but she accepted it. Wriggling closer and leaning her side and head against his, Susetthe fell quiet and watched the forest just after sunset.

Merlin, however, kept glancing down at her, studying her and thanking the gods that she was so forgiving. Perhaps she was his second chance, or at least a safety net. The three years he'd spent alone, he would often go days without eating or drinking, finding himself on the verge of unconsciousness when some passing traveler would take pity and leave just enough food to give him strength to crawl, or he'd find himself beside a stream or berry bush. The very brink of death, never able to die because of sheer luck—or magic—or destiny. In Ealdor, he hadn't expected much difference, only that his mother wouldn't let him starve. Still, he expected the misery to just consume him, burn through his heart and drown his soul. But Susetthe didn't let that happen. No, for some reason, he couldn't sink that low whenever she was nearby. Even when he left for Lake Avalon, there was always the voice in the back of his mind, _go home to Susetthe_. And he did. Every time.

That night, as Merlin looked into the eyes of a person who had every reason to hate him, and yet didn't, was the first time Merlin kissed her.


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Attack**

The next few months, rapidly approaching his first full year in Ealdor, Merlin spent relatively happy. He had his routine, but it only slightly changed now, but changed momentously. He could kiss Susetthe. His lovely, compassionate, strong Susetthe. She was like her brother quite a bit—daring, mischievous, proud—which only added to her charm. He liked to believe that Gwaine was watching from the afterlife, hopefully approving, and Merlin did everything he could to keep the knight's easygoing sister happy, in the hopes that he could be redeemed in the eyes of his fallen friend.

"Lilly, really now," he chuckled as he wove through his mother's farm with Lilly and Rowanna on his heels, teasing him about Susetthe as per usual now. He loved the two as sisters, but occasionally their obsession bordered on annoying.

"Merlin we can't help ourselves," Rowanna sighed teasingly. "You didn't see you when you first arrived here. Everyone was happy to see you, yes—"

Lilly continued for her when she hesitated. "But there was this shadow over you constantly, so deep and dark no one was quite sure if you'd ever even truly smile."

Rowanna nodded, Merlin only catching it from the corner of his eye. "Then we all became friends, but it has always been clear that she's the closest to you, and you likewise. But no, you seem happier, like every smile isn't—"

She was cut off by Lilly screaming. Merlin and Rowanna whipped around, Merlin's arm shooting to grab the girl's shoulder out of protective instinct, but the three were frozen in shock. A raging fire was rapidly swallowing the village, already claiming two houses. From the village, people's screams and shouts echoed as men in dark clothing on horses poured in from the forest, leaping over or simply smashing the small fences, brandishing swords and maces and other weapons.

"Get into the forest, now!" Merlin shouted at them, already beginning to sprint back to the cluster of houses. He had to protect his mother, the village children, Susetthe. He didn't turn back to look for Lillian or Rowanna, just hoping they'd actually listened to him. Mere yards from his mother's house, Merlin yelled a spell and hurled it at the nearest raider, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him backwards off of his horse.

The streets were chaos, shouts and cries assaulting Merlin's ears as villagers and raiders both fell, bodies bloody and sometimes squirming, sometimes still. The majority of bodies were villagers. Merlin ran into his house, grabbing his sword and dagger, before twisting through people, throwing spells whenever he could get a clear shot, searching for his mother and Susetthe. Soon, the metallic scent of fire mixed with the acrid stench of fire and the two permeated the air, as if it was the only smell Merlin had ever known.

He caught sight of Susetthe' s dark mop of hair, but it was immediately obscured by a raider who swung his sword out at Merlin's neck. Merlin raised his sword instinctively, blocking it, the two exchanging a few blows before Merlin's sword was hilt-deep in the man's stomach. The man's eyes were wide as he fell, and Merlin almost laughed humorlessly. He'd trained with the best—the king—these raiders were not taking this village easily if Merlin had anything to say. He continued running in the direction he'd seen her, throwing spells and using his sword, but they never seemed to stop coming.

He was at the edge of the village now, with still more pouring from the trees as he stood trying to stop them from even reaching the fence. Then, something hard thundered into the back of his head and everything turned black.


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The End of the Beginning**

It must've been the next morning, because Merlin's deep blue eyes opened to meet the lavender sky of a sun just rising. Sitting up quickly, ignoring the spinning and dull thudding in his head, Merlin immediately let out sobs as he saw his village before him. What used to be his village. Now, it was just piles of strewn ashes. Every last house, stall, gate, even farmland was burned to the ground, the stench only just beginning to thin in the air.

He stood shakily, but couldn't make his feet step closer. He didn't want to see it. Didn't want to see his last safe place, his last home, his last bundle of decent—even happy—memories reduced to this. He couldn't even see bodies. If there were any that survived fire, they were covered in ashes anyway. Briefly, he wondered if there were any survivors, but doubt quickly wiped the thought away. Those raiders hadn't been looking for prisoners or slaves, just to destroy. It was so quiet, not even insects dared to move or chirp.

Merlin turned and ran full-tilt into the forest. He had two things to do, and he could do them in one motion: get far away from this place, now only even more guilt and regret and pain; and get to Arthur. Ealdor was on the border of Camelot, but the five kingdoms were now united as Albion, under Arthur and now Guinevere and Leon. Raiders so far within the kingdom, on the edge of Camelot itself. A kingdom in peril, Arthur must be rising now.

The man ran the majority of the two-day trip to the Lake Avalon, desperate to be there to see and to help his king. This time, he promised, this time he would not fail anyone. He would arrive, Arthur would rise, and he would teach and guide Arthur, protect him and fight by his side, redeeming all those Merlin had failed by saving Albion. The images flashed in his mind once again, but they only spurred him to run faster. The faces of the fallen: Lancelot, Freya, Uther, Elyan, Gwaine, his mother, Susetthe, Lilly, Rowanna, Ainsley and Aiken, Arthur. Arthur. The faces of those left behind, but let down: Gaius, Gwen, Leon, Percival. So few, yet they crushed Merlin's soul to pieces every day.

The lake's surface was still when he arrived at nightfall. That was all right, perhaps Arthur would rise in the morning, with the sun. Merlin could see it, the dawn glinting off the golden hair and silver armor, bathing the red cloak in light and hope as the king rose, in his hand, Excalibur, which in the dawn looks to be set on the very fire which had forged it. Merlin lay down on the shore, exactly where he had set the boat adrift four years ago. His dreams played the hope, the fantasy, over and over.

But in the morning, the lake was as still as a mirror. Merlin sat, regardless, as the sun rose higher and then sank. He ate some of the food he had brought with him, plants and small game he'd hunted on the way. He slept again on the shore. And again, sat next to the lake all day. The second day, he ran out of food. So, he let himself go hungry and then fell asleep again. As the dawn broke on the third day, he ventured only a few yards into the woods and gathered wood and plants, with the help of his magic for larger amounts, and spent the day making rope and firewood.

After a few years, there was a small house, no more than two rooms, set up right on the shore. Inside was a loosely sewn mattress filled with grass, a spindly-legged wooden table, and an array of herbs, furs, dried meats, and other supplies strewn on the walls. On the bed was the pouch, full of the enchanted books Gaius had passed on to Merlin. He lived in the house, everyday watching for his king. He grew older, until he was that old man with the long white hair and beard, as he'd disguised himself so many times.

A day came, the one right before that when he was to be exactly one hundred years old. His king never rose from the lake, and he never saw anyone he'd met in Camelot—or Ealdor—again. Queen Guinevere and King Leon ended their reign, dying at an old age. It was just two years into the reign of their son, King Thomas, and his wife, Queen Aeritha—the daughter of Princess Mithian, in fact, Merlin grinned. The sun had set, and an old Merlin hobbled slowly to his bed and lay down, feeling a weight dragging at his bones and eyes, begging him to close them and sleep for a long time. He did.

Or so he thought. He did go to sleep, an old man of exactly one hundred years old. Almost eighty years he'd sat waiting at the lake, the weight of guilt and failure and hope and disappointment somehow never crushing him, even when he couldn't lift his chest under it to breathe. The next morning, however, Merlin awoke in his bed, his house looking exactly as it had the evening before. No overgrown plants or extra dust or missing or misplaced objects to show the passage of time. Stepping outside, there was little change in the forest around him. And, as always, the lake was still. He couldn't have slept more than a day, yet it felt like years.

Looking down, he noticed how easily he'd gotten up and walked. He was himself again, the self that so many had known, a young man—even back in his serving clothes, the trousers, shirt, and neckerchief. Merlin was…Merlin, again. At exactly one hundred years of age, he'd just changed. Had he died? Or just his magic was preserving him, making him cycle through life over and over?

Inspecting his reflection in the lake's surface, he noticed how young he was. Like when he'd first come to Camelot, his late teen years. He had another eighty or so years, then. Shrugging at his own power, which often was far greater than even he understood, Merlin took his usual seat on the shore of the lake.


	7. Part Two

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	8. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: The Romany**

It was ten years later, the beginning of the seventh century to be exact, that a road was finally fully developed nearby the lake and Merlin's home. Although secluded and still far out of the way of many travelers, Merlin was surprisingly tuned into the changing world. He didn't know many specifics, but the spirits of the world—including the Sidhe at the lake—spoke to him, telling him of how magic was still accepted, but fading. Not many sorcerers, or sorceresses, kind or malignant, remained. Perhaps the skill was just dying out, Merlin thought sadly, no more dragon lords either. He was most certainly the last. Albion is still strong, however, having recovered from the small war—the one that had begun with the raiding of Ealdor. A tang of bitterness hit the back of his throat as Merlin had learned this, his home having been a sort of sacrifice, it seemed.

He sat at the lake, outside his little home, like every day, when in the middle of summer shouts and screams pierced the forest. Stiffening, Merlin listened intently as they continued, quickly pinpointing them to be on the new road nearby. The noises sounded from men and women alike, a few even sounding very young. Merlin grimaced. He was ferociously loyal, he hadn't left this spot in nearly a century waiting for his king's return. That was his destiny, his sole purpose, his only business. His only shot at redemption for the suffering he'd allowed to happen. Besides, that forest…the too many memories were still too fresh. But these screams…he'd heard—even seen—bandits attacking travelers and had rarely interfered much. This time, though, seemed different.

Making his way stealthily through the forest on the short walk to the road, Merlin didn't let himself process exactly _why_ he needed to go, he just went before he could change his mind and before he knew it, he was standing on a ridge only feet above the many heads of travelers and…soldiers? The travelers consisted of a Romany—nomadic gypsy—family: a man and woman, and a boy who couldn't be older than his early teens. They had packs on their backs and one mule, loaded with more. The soldiers were all large men in chainmail, at least ten of them, brandishing every weapon from swords to maces. The family had two swords between the man and boy, and that was all.

But Merlin processed too slowly. He'd barely registered these logistics before the boy fell, blood splashing from a deep gash in his chest, eyes glassy and face ashen. The woman's shriek, full of anguish and fear, nearly had Merlin doubling over in pain as it shot through him. Then, her noises stopped, now only male shouts echoing in the air. Blinking the blurriness from his eyes, Merlin caught sight of her body spilling beside the boy's, their blood mixing and staining the earth and air alike. With that, Merlin hurled himself down, pulling his sword from his belt and jumping the last few feet. He landed squarely behind the Romany man, bumping their backs together and raising his own sword in front of him.

The two fought back to back, but Merlin could easily see there were too many of them. It was the man and himself against now eight soldiers, but the man was wounded and tiring quickly. In the chaos, it didn't occur to Merlin to use his magic. He cut down one more man from his horse, dodged several blows from the others, and turned to see the man fall to his knees. Blood was pooling rapidly around him, and his back was slouched and his head of thick, dark hair was bowed. The man was dying, as had the rest of his family. Time seemed to slow as Merlin stilled and slowly lowered his sword. No matter how powerful he may be, he couldn't reverse the laws of the earth, and this man was too close to death for him to demand back. The soldiers even seemed to back off, most getting off of their horses to rifle through the Romany's belongings.

Then, it all changed. There was scuffling behind Merlin, and a smaller yet powerful scream, one full of fear and confusion and fury. Merlin turned again, confused, and gasped in shock. One of the men was holding a little girl roughly by the arm, dragging out from her apparent hiding place in a bush next to the dazed mule. She couldn't have seen more than a decade, she was so small and scared. The man held her roughly, practically throwing her onto the ground, her little body weak and limp even as she tried to struggle. Merlin felt a fire slowly building in his belly.

"P-please," he heard the Romany man beg, but Merlin was certain that only he could—or would—hear. "S-s-she's j-ju-ust a ch-chi-i-ld." His please, heard or not, were met with a loud slapping sound, and Merlin saw red as his own icy blue gaze fell upon the soldier's arm slowing from a swing and his fingers wrapping around the hilt of a knife in his belt; and the little girl's face spinning to him, tear tracks streaking her dirt-smeared face, still leaking from wide, terror-filled eyes dark as the trees around them, her whole face smothered in tangled, equally dark hair.

Merlin screamed at the cruelty; not only to murder an innocent family, but to scare and hurt and now most likely kill such a young child. The rage sparked through his veins and he felt his magic buzz in his fingers for only a split second before it burst out of him, invisible waves hauling and flinging each and every soldier—even the few dead—into the forest and far from the site. The man dropped the little girl, who, as Merlin fought to reign in the sudden burst, crawled quickly to her father's body. Merlin looked down at them in time to see the man's chest rise in finality.

"Th-thank you," the man wheezed out, before his chest stilled and his eyes glassed over. The little girl was silent, kneeling and staring down into the man's face. Merlin grimaced, no child should see that. Merlin looked away out of respect—well, he called it respect to cover up the guilt and discomfort—and out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the soldiers' bodies.

Stepping away from the Romany, he observed the chainmail sheathing twisted limbs, helmet dented, scarlet tunic…wait. Merlin's feet moved quickly now, gliding over the ground until his toes nearly touched the man's still shoulder. Scarlet tunic, with the gold print of a great, twirling lion…Merlin felt bile rise in his throat, and his eyes sting.

Nostalgia. Disgust. Shame. Murdering a peaceful family, eternally wounding a young child, under the insignia and name of Pendragon—of Arthur. The Arthur Merlin knew—hell, the whole continuing Pendragon family he knew—would not do this. Gwen and Leon would never have allowed this. Merlin chuckled brokenly as he pictured a furious Gwen, so young and lovely and strong, ordering every comfort imaginable to the girl and every punishment short of death to the guards. Even their son, Thomas, who Merlin last knew as king before his…regeneration… would not have let it slip by. This is what the family had come to?

"King Thomas and Queen Aeritha do not know about this," a small, but strong, voice yanked Merlin from his spiraling reverie as tiny fingers laced around his middle one. Jerking his head down, his gaze melted into the glassy, swirling orbs of the child. Merlin felt his lips twitch. Aeritha, Lady Mithian's daughter. The families did merge after all.

"Where were you headed?" Merlin asked, but his voice came out barely above a whisper. His throat was hopelessly constricted, he couldn't help it. He never had been a good talker, especially as this young man he was…well, now appearing as. Besides, what the bloody hell could anyone possibly say to a child who'd just witnessed her family's murder? But even more than that, there was something that just was pulling Merlin to the little Romany girl. Her fingers around his felt so solid, but they made his arms itch to wrap around her little torso and hug her, try to make it all better.

Her thin shoulders shrugged. "Papa wouldn't say," she grimaced, voice breaking and tears pooling in her eyes.

Merlin tried not to sigh, and looked around, as if some miracle solution would come leaping out of the trees. Nothing did, not within the next few seconds. "Do you know any other family? Near or far, it doesn't matter," he tried, his fingers closing slightly around her hand in urgency.

Her eyes widened, the water began to spill over the corners, and her bottom lip shook ever so slightly. But it was enough for Merlin to feel his heart break. "No," she whispered, bowing her head and letting her hand fall from his. This time, Merlin released the sigh heavily. What was he supposed to do with her now?

Fingers wrapped around his very suddenly, in a grip so tight he almost winced. Meeting her eyes again, Merlin saw so many things. It was like looking into a long lost mirror, really, one that had preserved his reflection of the Merlin who'd left whatever was Camelot and planted himself on the lake. Desperation at seeing the long path ahead, and little to no plan or preparation. Loneliness, an understanding that there was no one in the world who would truly be with you, or truly understand your actions or your being. Shame, at failing to not become this. But also a courage, a strength, hidden but very much present. A steel resolve to go on, to keep living and to rebuild yourself. That was probably what triggered him to be his old impulsive, kindhearted self.

"You can come stay with me," he blurted, wincing internally as soon as the words were strung in the air. But he couldn't take them back, especially as he watched the idea sink into her mind and brighten her eyes, her whole body sighing in relief. Her little fingers squeezed his, and Merlin squeezed back before releasing her.

She stayed still as he moved behind her, gathering the family's spilled supplies. There was little he could do right now, and though this may seem cold it was necessary. The girl didn't even turn, and he was grateful for that. Merlin paused, wondering if he should give them a proper burial. He sighed, feeling his head begin to ache. Perhaps that was a decision that could be held off for now.

As he looped an arm around her shoulders, Merlin led the little Romany girl farther down the road before climbing through the forest to the lake, and his home. He wouldn't make her walk through her family's carnage. She was silent the entire time, and he suspected she would be for a while. But that was alright. Merlin smiled to himself, feeling something fit inside. Now he wouldn't be so alone—neither of them would be.

As soon as the two reached his cottage, the Romany child walked straight to his small bed in the back. If Merlin didn't know better, he'd have been suspicious at how quickly she found it. He put away the gathered supplies, then went to the back to look for her. Her little figure curled up at the foot of his bed, taking up a fraction of the mattress. She was so tense, holding herself together. He could see the thin shoulders quivering under her dress, despite the air inside the cottage really being rather warm.

Sighing Merlin's back hit the wall and he slid down it, knees coming just under his chin. Gangly, thin, his limbs too long to really handle all that well; he smiled to himself, back to that Merlin. His body was like that, and perhaps he'd always retained part of that person in himself, locked away for when…when the circumstances would be alright.

The images spilled into the front of his mind without permission, without even solid enough reason. The smirk at Merlin's clumsiness, the disbelieving chuckle when Merlin actually tried to suggest an idea or strategy—the shocked yelp, emphasizing the only two vowels in his name if he were here to see this. Merlin's eyes widened and he gulped. What the hell had he done?! He had just taken a child and brought her into his tiny excuse of a home…for what? To take care of her himself? He'd never even had a sibling! He certainly wasn't a father, never had been, and never would be. Never really wanted to be, not really. It wasn't in his destiny.


	9. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Like the Sun**

They were only certain it had been a couple hours because the sky was rapidly darkening, but later on, the child woke up to find Merlin against the wall, eyes open but glazed as he thought. So deep in thought, he didn't even notice her wake—or climb off the bed altogether. He only snapped out of it when she was sitting cross-legged in front of him and had nudged his knee. He almost fell. Almost. Swallowing, he readjusted to match her and looked into her little, round face.

"Well, uh," he started, trying not to be unnerved as those eyes, as large and as innocent as a doe's, stared at him. As scared as any animal. Her arms were bundled around her chest, fingers tangling in the loose edges of the long sleeves and pulling them further over her hands. Her face was pale, and her eyes slightly sunken.

"Do you remember what happened?" Her hair fell into her face, even though she only slightly inclined her chin.

"Right," he resisted the urge to shuffle—much—and to rub his hands together. Words were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't move his mouth around any of them individually, much less in a full sentence. The longer they looked at each other, the more that feeling came back. His skin tightening on his back and shoulders, rope tugging on the nape of his neck and the back of his mind. She looked familiar…but he'd been alive for over one hundred years, he'd seen a lot of people. A lot of dark haired, dark blue eyed little girls existed in that time.

"I am Romany," she whispered, her shoulders rising in a delicate shrug as she offered a continuation in the awkward, yet inescapable, conversation. Merlin nodded. She wasn't from anywhere, really, didn't have a home or origin he could easily return her to.

"What is your age?" he asked, both wanting to know and hoping she wouldn't answer.

"I'm six summers." It was not a very light situation, and she'd just been through perhaps the most horrifying experience any child could. And yet, her voice and lips rose just a tad, the pride hard to completely erase. Merlin felt his own mouth twist, the smile not reaching his eyes but at least encouraging her to try to find positivity.

"My name is Susetthe."

At that, Merlin froze. His spine straightened and he felt his own eyes burn as he stared unblinking. She had seemed familiar…but it was impossible, she'd died. Only ten years ago. Reincarnation itself was far from impossible—his life was solid enough proof—but this soon? It had to be coincidence. It wasn't exactly a unique name, anyway. But if it really was her, and this fast, then perhaps that meant something more. Merlin's mind continued to run in circles even as his mouth moved again.

"Are you all by yourself here?" she asked, overcome with innocent sympathy as her eyes traced his hut's tight, cluttered walls. Her shoulders moved back, her chest puffed as if trying to take up more physical space. Merlin found her concern for him, with little regard to her own far more pressing situation, both sweet and alarming.

"How are y—" No, stupid question. "Are you alright?" Better. Her face was smooth, and her eyes did hold sadness as he looked at her but also curiosity, wariness. The child seemed incredibly calm for having just lost her family. The Romany were especially serious about family and companions, considering their nomadic nature gave them little else to really hold onto long term.

Her eyes sparked with intuition uncanny for her young age. "Papa always said that the sun rises and sets every day, no matter what. We are like the sun. And if the sun doesn't stop no matter what, then why should we?" Her words were carefully recited, but the solid voice and blue steel of her eyes told Merlin that she believed the words and intended on sticking to them.

This time, his smile was stronger and of admiration, as he watched a very familiar fire burn in very familiar eyes.


	10. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: The Longest Night**

That night, as the moon had just passed its crest and was beginning its descent back into its temporary grave of hills, Merlin's eyes snapped open as harsh, strangled sounds finally drilled through his sleep. His back and shoulders were straight and rigid as he leapt smoothly to his feet from the edge of the bed, eyes swirling both bright blue and molten gold. The two had fallen asleep on his bed, the mattress tiny but the child even tinier so there was still space in between. That was extinguished now, however, as Merlin registered her thrashing limbs that had twisted in her dress and the thin blankets, and continuing to fling out and grasp at the air. The flurry of movements and yelps being thrown against the walls made her seem even younger than she was.

"Susetthe, wake up," he murmured, hands already enveloping her small shoulders and trying to coax her arms into calming. He felt the wiry muscles tense and whip about underneath his palms, his calls to her growing louder and more frantic as her distress continued.

Pain. The whimpers, strangled yells; the jerky movements as if exaggerated winces; the dramatic, repeated arch and curl of her spine. Merlin realized she was in pain, stinging from the inside out. The area under her sunken eyes and along her cheekbones was wet now, her lips visibly chapping as her eyes remained squeezed shut.

"Susetthe, you have to wake up and tell me what's wrong," he pleaded through gritted teeth, not minding that his grip on her arms was probably leaving bruises. The rough, torn material of her sleeves slid under his fingers, making him grip her tighter in efforts to keep hold.

The realization was as if he'd been riding and then knocked off: before, he was turbulent and fast, his mind and heart racing, and after, the world and time itself halted as his body hummed with roughly silenced energy. Pain. Inside. Sleeves.

He readjusted himself so that he knelt completely on the mattress, instead of half sprawled as he had been. A bit roughly, Merlin tugged the girl's body half onto his knees and thighs, one arm barring across her chest to keep her relatively still and the other grabbing her left elbow. A sharp yank tore part of the sleeve in half, and his fingers followed the line until the cloth fell away from her entire arm, up to her shoulder. There. He exhaled in a hiss as he found the shallow cut, no more than three-quarters the length of his little finger, just above the crease of her elbow. The cut was a dark pink, freshly healed, with just a few thin flakes of dark red dried blood—she probably hadn't even noticed it before. But the skin surrounding the cut was permeated with dark black stains, jagged and tangled lines creating a sinister web over the skin from her elbow to…

Merlin tugged at her dress, carefully revealing her shoulder and upper chest just below her collarbones. The webs continued. He swore under his breath.

"Susetthe," he murmured, bending so that his mouth was right beside the child's ear, trying to get her to hear him somewhere in her haze. She whimpered particularly, so he took that as a sign. "You got cut, probably by those soldiers, and the blade had some sort of poison."

She sobbed loudly and her eyes flew open to meet Merlin's hard gaze. Her brilliant indigo eyes were glassy and grey in her haze, them and her flushed face portraying her rapidly increasing fever. "It hurts now." He swallowed the thick lump in his throat.

"I know, I-I-just hold on, I'm going to fix it, don't worry," he rushed, laying her back fully on the bed as he stood and stepped to the closest shelf. His hut was small, each of the two rooms barely enough for a full-grown man to lie comfortably on the floor, but as he flipped through the numerous books and jars of herbs, it was larger than a bloody castle.

He'd never seen this, and he didn't have the actual blade or substance to help identify it, a challenge he had encountered many times with Gaius. As he'd learned, Merlin knew that medicines and even healing magic was particular. He had to be certain, or have at least some knowledge, before flinging plants and spells at the child. He muttered under his breath, words growing nastier and movements growing more desperate with each second that felt like an hour. Even the books he'd taken from—or made with—Gaius all those years ago had absolutely nothing, he growled. He didn't even have a second to reflect sadly on that experience…going through his pack and fixing, shelving, and even writing from memory the books on medicines and magic…recognizing and even trying to imitate Gaius' scratchy handwriting…

"Please!"

The shrill, demanding scream jerked him out of his frenzy, and he nearly tripped on his own legs as he whirled around to face the now still figure curled in a tight ball on the bed. The scream, despite it being of 'please', hadn't been a plea. There had been no begging, not even shakiness; it had been demanding, strong. Susetthe asked for—no, ordered, requested, _wanted_ —company, to not be left alone, and the knowledge that someone was with her. Merlin stepped slowly until his knees hit the edge. The child was no longer thrashing around, instead lying on her side and shivering slightly. Her eyes were open, still cloudy but more closely resembling the night sky than before. And they were focused on him.

Weakly, Merlin sat with his legs on the bed and his back against the creaky but sturdy wall. His hands under her shoulder and hip, he positioned the girl to lie with her shoulders against his chest and her legs half on the bed, her head pulled upright and supported against the flat of his shoulder. She shook, her breaths shallow and ragged, and Merlin wrapped his arms around her in hopes of comfort. It seemed to work, because the child curled more into him and flicked her eyes up to his again.

"It hurts," she whispered. He nodded, breaking eye contact to pull the books from his shelves with magic, splaying them all open and across the bed and floor. The two were curled in the middle of a stormy ocean of yellowish pages, smeared ink, scratched writing and elegant calligraphy. The hermit warlock spent the next several hours clutching and trying to sooth Susetthe, and flipping through the books, a bit more carefully and with much more attention to any details that could give him hints. Perhaps he could create his own spell out of their pieces. Just something.

It was the longest night Merlin remembered since Camlann.

The moon sank, lost to the world until it would secretly reemerge in the daylight, and the sky outside was streaked with both fire and ink as the sun wasn't yet existing in its full glory. Merlin's body felt heavy, but he was far from sleep. Susetthe's breaths remained shallow, but were no longer frenzied and broken. They rattled in her chest, her small body seeming hollow as her skin was starkly pale, broken up by the deep, savage lines. The ocean-shaded eyes were pale and foggy, staring blankly from dark purple circles. Her damp hair fanned in tangled curls cross his shirt, and he finally noticed that they weren't just a dark brown like he'd initially thought, but a dark, molten gold.

"The sun is rising." The words floated out with her breath, and Merlin just barely heard them. He nodded, unable to speak.

"It does every day, every dawn, no matter what," he repeated her words to her, and she smiled. The curve was weak and stretched her skin over her bones, but it shone along with the dawn's pale gold light.

 **A/N: I am starting my sophomore year of college! As exciting as this is, it means I have less time to write. I plan on updating this story every Monday, but if I miss one, then the update will be the next Monday. Either way, always Monday, and I should only miss once or twice if really necessary because I know where this is going & I have a decent amount written in advance :)**


	11. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Gold**

The sun still had hours before it reached its peak, or even before it was bright enough so that none could escape its light and wakefulness, when its rays brushed Merlin's back as he stood on the shore of Lake Avalon. Again. A wooden boat—a bit roughly made, but secure and fitting nonetheless—cast out shallow ripples on the mirror surface as it moved away from him. Again. His eyes flashed gold, though the rest of him refused to move, and flames jumped and danced inside the boat's curve. Again.

Merlin's sadness was a bit on the side of inexplicable. Yes, no decent person was happy over the death of a young child they'd known for not even a full day. But they didn't feel so cripplingly empty, their souls didn't collapse into a gray, tattered puddle and weep. They didn't feel desolate after, like every breath was now a chore—and the only reason they turned away and went back to the motions of living was because they had vowed to do so.

It was so uncannily familiar, Merlin wanted to set fire to more than the sweet, small wooden boat. He wanted savage flames to drown out his own sorrow, to swallow hundreds of miles of land and eventually him too. Merlin's soul had suffered under this loss, just as it had buckled under that of Arthur.

Sadness consumed him, and though he appeared a young man, Merlin for the first time truly felt the years he had lived and the years he had yet to live. All at once. He'd lost his central purpose; his very destiny. His best friend. He'd—twice—lost his chance at redemption for the suffering he had caused; another person he'd really loved, now that he admitted it, and who he now believed had been a larger part of his life than he'd first thought. Perhaps Susetthe was some part of his destiny too, since she had appeared twice. But he was sure he'd lost that now, too.

The world didn't seem to be faring much better. Those knights had attacked an innocent traveling family, including children, with poisoned weapons. Such violence, and such ignorance on the part of the royal family…Albion was sinking.

And the lake's surface was still again.


	12. Part Three

**Part Three: mid-17th century**

The First English Civil War broke out in 1642, largely due to conflicts between Charles I and Parliament. Charles surrendered in 1645, but escaped. The Second English Civil War broke out in 1647, though it was much shorter. Charles I was tried and executed in January 1649, making England a republic.

*A lot happened in England's 1600s, it's pretty interesting. But this is all you need to understand the references in my story*


	13. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Blood Magic**

Merlin suppressed a groan as he watched the four tiny glass vials, the one on the far right glowing brightly. He nodded to himself, shuffling back to sit on the wooden chair and grasped the pen in long, gnarled fingers to write in looping scratch, not all that unlike Gaius'. The old man chuckled to himself, in part impressed and in part sad that he could still remember his caretaker's handwriting after so long.

He grumbled when his back complained an hour later. He was in his 80's now—again—and after so long, he'd have thought he would grow used to it. But no, ten lifespans later (What else was he to call them? 'Regeneration' felt cold; 'lifetimes' was for reincarnations and thus not appropriate), and his bones still ached and he was still uncomfortable. He had started to look forward to his 100th birthday, since then he would wake in his younger body again.

Of course, he had made other improvements. His little home had grown, as over time the rest of the world developed new materials and tools: he now had a wooden bed with a cotton mattress that fit his body twice, cleaner and sturdier wood for the walls, glass on the windows, and both rooms were larger. It was still two rooms, the one with his bed and chest of clothing, and the other with a table, shelves, fireplace, and a longer slab of wood like a cook's counter. A few years after…after his last contact with someone he knew originally, he'd begun a better food system. He had dried meats and fruits—enough to be considered healthy, should anyone have commented, instead of just enough to survive.

There was also another chest in the back corner of his bedroom. It contained a simple pale blue tunic that would have been far too small for him, two soft blankets, a simple cornhusk-and-linen doll, and a hairbrush.

The middle of the seventeenth century, he mused. One thousand years. So much had changed, and yet, so much had remained the same. Although, to be fair, he was extremely removed from the world despite his attention to it, so while he knew about the people's progress and news, he experienced very little.

He did now have to use magic to hide not only himself and his home, but also the entire lake. Modest homes only a bit larger than his own had been built within a mile of the place, and he was sure that they would keep expanding. He had debated opening the lake and using the people's appreciation as protection for it, but mankind was fickle. People would want to live right next to the lake, and would continue to build and grow. And Merlin needed the place to remain intact and safe. One day it would be needed. One day. He still firmly believed.

He looked back at the vials. Despite it being mere hours since he'd looked, he couldn't help but catch himself checking several times a day. The one on the right was still the only one, but that wasn't necessarily bad. The three drops of Gwaine's blood, taken all those centuries ago from the man's sword, glowed to indicate that his friend was living another reincarnation. This was his fifth in the last thousand years, since the last time Merlin had seen him.

Merlin had the blood of Gwaine, Lancelot, Morgana, and, of course, Arthur. It had broken his heart each time to wipe the three drops off of swords (Morgana had actually had Lancelot's, but had never used it after her attempts to use him were thwarted, so the blood was kept for Merlin's later discovery). But he'd braved through the violation, since it would benefit them all in the long run. Even at the loss of Morgana, Merlin had shed a tear. The blood magic allowed him to know when each had appeared as a reincarnation, and the vial glowed until the lifetime ended. If he focused, Merlin could see flashes of scenes in the glass to see details. He didn't do this often, for it was rather saddening to see his friends—but not his friends—fighting in war, living happily, mourning a death of an elderly loved one, getting married. Occasionally, they became extremely close to meeting each other. Their lives were normal, but far away from him, and they knew nothing of his existence, while he measured his years in the times and lengths of their appearances.

He'd taken the drops right after the battles in Camelot, but he hadn't performed the spell until that night and dawn he'd held his second solitary funeral at Lake Avalon. Since then, he'd lived through five of Gwaine's lifetimes, two of Lancelot's, and six of Morgana's.

He grew wary every time Morgana's blood glowed, but so far nothing too catastrophic had happened. He saw that she'd been the one to inflame the Vikings to start a wave of raids on England in the later part of the 10th century; three hundred years later, she was the strategic mistress to a man called William Wallace when he led scots to defeat the English. Merlin had grown especially nervous then, and had debated leaving—just temporarily, of course—to see what he could do. However, eight very short years later, the man had been executed and the situation was righted. The four other times her blood had glowed, nothing so eventful had happened, so Merlin was comforted that she had either been defeated in whatever evil plot or she had just lived a nice, unassuming life. He hoped for the latter. He'd watched her fall into power-crazed evil, fueled solely by crippling fear. He would have liked to have actually met her during a lifetime of peace.

The glimpses into Lancelot's lives always made the old warlock smile affectionately, watching the man remain his exact same self. Always a knight, even if not in chainmail: trustworthy, loyal, kind, noble. Good looking and romantic, Merlin added wryly. He had led—and won—the Battle of Agincourt for the English, during one summer in the very early 13th century. Merlin was proud of him, and his heart thudded with the knowledge that everyone else would have been proud of him, too. The last Merlin had seen of him had been a rather interesting role, as Lancelot had gone from perfect warrior to more of a diplomat, and served in the Long Parliament in the year Merlin found to be 1640. He'd been incredibly attentive to the people, and perhaps the one to most valiantly speak for them.

And now, as his back moaned and he couldn't wait for the next dozen years to hurry by so that he could return to his comfortable body, he noted that Gwaine's vial had been glowing for the last 14 years. His little sister—if he had one; sometimes they had other family and sometimes they didn't—ought to be 6 then. Merlin had an ancient leather-bound diary that was reserved specially to record his observations for the blood magic, but his entry for today was short as he hadn't peeked into the boy's life. Gwaine's was particularly hard.

The urge to sob, or throw furniture in anger, choked him every year that the one vial never glowed. But Merlin lived through it, day by day. He acknowledged the same feeling whenever Gwaine's vial glowed, and ached as the feeling doubled when he did look into Gwaine's life and saw only the boy or young man. He didn't have her blood. He didn't think it would matter, really. She was a freak chance, an outlier in nature, Merlin was sure. She wasn't so important for his destiny, nothing and no one was or could be.

Still, the majority of the diary's pages were notes of Gwaine's lives, and always included if she was with him. She never was.

As an old man, he was generally grouchy. He always had been. Really, everything ached constantly, and basic movements were practically cumbersome in this form. And rarely did any outside stimulation or activity help any of that.

So of course, he was ready to growl or even throw a mild spell at whoever was crashing through the forest and speaking so loudly that he could hear them from a quarter-mile away while he was just trying to quietly collect some herbs.

Scowl so deep he could feel it etching another line into his face, Merlin crept quietly through the undergrowth in the direction of the noises, not quite sure if his intentions were to simply gain knowledge or to actually yell at the people to shut it. When he did finally see something, however, all the agitation left and he watched with interest and slight awe, blue eyes bright and wide.

A family of four—as many as he could tell, anyway—was in the process of moving into the house nearest to his home. Well, the two adults were moving several trunks, while the smaller two figures were alternating between dragging trunks a yard forward and running around the perimeter of the small house. The building, which Merlin doubted was more than four or five rooms, was rather far form the old, almost-totally overgrown road and was nestled into the forest. Not typically attractive for any other time, but Merlin knew of the current chaos. Merlin had learned about a century back that people were more systematically counting the years, and this was 1645; he'd also learned of the 'civil war' that had been scaring families like this one into safe, secluded homes.

He still didn't really understand the concept. Apparently, a 'civil' war meant that the people were fighting amongst themselves. The people that were all of one kingdom—though they weren't often called kingdoms anymore—and yet…fought each other. It just didn't really make sense. These new systems confused Merlin, and perhaps it was in part due to his isolation, but he didn't understand why the kings weren't around or weren't obeying their duties to their people.

Most of all, Merlin couldn't understand why the land was being torn and a good king was needed but not present.


	14. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: The House in the Forest**

A month later, Merlin had grudgingly gotten used to his new sort-of neighbors. The two children tended to be noisy and ran around startling the animals and trampling the undergrowth, but he did learn that they only played outside on certain days at certain times. Never after the sun had begun to set, and only on days where there was no other activity on the roads nearby—which wasn't often anyway, but still. So, he kindly made slight adjustments to his schedule.

He did need to replenish his food supply, though. Luckily, despite being old and creaky, his magic was a magnificent hunting tool, and he collected herbs, birds, and other small animals for both food and material. He was in the middle of eyeing a deer, the lone arrow raised to his lips, which were pursed and already forming the words of a spell to fly the arrow perfectly into its heart, when the animal straightened and darted out of sight. Merlin scowled, lips now forming a curse word in frustration as the cracking continued. For their normal behavior, the children were actually being fairly quiet. But not enough, dammit!

He turned in the direction of the clumsy footsteps, deep scowl and glare at the ready, before reality poured like ice down his back, freezing and shocking him so that his body and mind fell into a blank, stunned state.

The gangly boy climbed with almost too many limbs through the bushes and fallen branches, his hair in a shaggy mop hanging over his eyes. Yet, the saunter with which he covered his obvious lack of grace and the easy grin on his lips betrayed him and Merlin knew exactly who he was. Somewhere below his shock, a tiny voice wiggled in the back of his mind to be grateful for his habitual cloaking spell. It was a light one that didn't require much concentration and thus didn't cover much more than sight—if he stomped on a branch, or coughed they could probably hear—but it kept the boy's curious glances from lingering on him. But still, that wasn't quite what left Merlin choking for air as his lungs froze in his chest.

As Gwaine stepped past the invisible old man, his steps purposeful and covering the ground quickly, the little girl lagged behind and huffed as her brother's head stayed firmly in the clouds. She looked tall for her age—or maybe he had estimated wrong and there wasn't as strict of a pattern as he'd thought—but did not walk nearly as loudly or clumsily as her brother.

Until her eyes locked with Merlin's. He watched the blue eyes widen and then disappear from his line of sight. Jolted into confusion, he glanced down to see the girl's legs tangled in her thin skirt, the thin body managing to look both spread out and curled up awkwardly on the ground. Part of him wanted to chuckle until the soft, tentative sounds of sobs trickled into his ears and the details of her pupils and corneas blurred under the layer of unshed tears.

"Shh, don't cry," Merlin croaked automatically, knees bending with surprising ease to get him to her level. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes glassy, yet her lips were pressed together in a proud line and her chin was tilted up. He felt a prick at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm not," she ground out, and Merlin could see her clenched teeth as her lips moved. Her voice was quiet and high-pitched as a child, but admirably not all that shaky. "I scraped my leg and it stings."

He nodded, feeling the businesslike expression on his face and wanting to react to it. She spoke like she made so much sense, as if the idea of her being a crying little girl at the feet of a strange old man was preposterous.

Then Merlin froze again. She was looking at him, talking to him. With his spell still on. "How did you scrape your leg?" the words were still half-thought, his being just knowing to continue speaking to the child Susetthe without doubt, even while his conscious mind continued to spin at her being able to see through his magic.

"I was following Gwaine and then I saw you," she mumbled quickly. "Mama said nobody else lived very close. But then I fell." Her shoulders twitched in finality.

The sunlight weaving through the branches above them cast her hair in a swirl of mahogany and gold and bronze, and it crossed over his view of her flushed, stubborn face as her head bent down to inspect her legs. The limbs were still tangled in the dirt-stained, light green fabric, but the hem was up around one knee and he found dark spots along it. Her shin was crusted in dirt and blood, already drying but still seeping from several shallow cuts. His tongue smacking against his teeth, Merlin felt his body move of its own accord, flowing easily and willingly through the motions of a simple healing spell that glowed prettily as it cleaned and restored the pale skin.

The loud gasp that she made no effort to hide left him chuckling, her whole face lighting up with awe and glee. "Thanks!" Her voice was high and shrill, broken by a giggle as she ran her fingers lightly, tickling the now-perfect skin. Merlin nodded, white hair framing the edges of his vision.

"How did you do that? What's your name? Why are you here? Why didn't Mama or Papa know you?" she fired, and Merlin blinked in surprise at her quick recovery and the determined expression on her face. Her blue eyes pinned his, cutting mercilessly through his lined face and tempered thoughts. And his cloaking spell, which was still active mind you.

"My name is Merlin, and I was born with magic," he whispered, the basic phrase feeling like a secret whispered between long friends instead of a (probably crazy, he had to be by now) old man and an unusually intelligent-looking child. Her eyes lit up, and she had jumped to her feet before his eyes could even follow her movements.

The only detail Merlin's eyes were able to catch was the large, toothy grin curling around Susetthe's lips as she sprinted away from him and back through the trees, in the direction of her home and her brother Gwaine.

The night Merlin met Susetthe for the third time, he walked silently to the house her family had moved into and stood outside for what felt like ages. The sun had set just two hours after their brief meeting—which Merlin still could not quite comprehend and was sure he looked like a clotpole with his wide eyes and gaping mouth—and he had waited until the moon was high.

He had recognized the girl immediately, nearly the same age as she had been in the last lifetime he'd met her…and as she had died. This time, he was determined that that would not happen. Three times he'd met her, three times in over a thousand years. That could be coincidence, yes, but he had learned long ago not to question fate and destiny. All the times he had met her, she had been Gwaine's sister, and had looked and been the exact same. The others from Camelot reincarnated with the same appearances and personalities each time.

Merlin wondered if it really was purposeful, or he was just hoping for it to be. Perhaps every person reincarnated multiple times, and with the same traits. He wouldn't know—he barely even interacted with people at all.

Still, if nothing else, it had been horrible to watch the young Romany girl die, and Merlin's heart couldn't go through the long, disgusting loss again. So, he carefully stepped a perfect circle around the house and covered the area in protective spells. Besides, these would help her entire family—they'd run from a war confusingly and swiftly tearing their homeland apart, and now they were as safe as they could possibly be.

Of course, she was a child who had just met a magic man. Her six-year-old mind had probably already characterized him as her imagination, or some other mystical being like a unicorn. One that was fun to play with and think about, but always knowing deep down that he wasn't real, or worth truly caring about. The old man half-doubted his own mind, wondering if he'd finally gone mad.

But had definitely done dumber, more impulsive things in the names of less kind or noble or necessary causes in his youth. His original youth, that is, not the recurring physical state.

When the sun broke through his thin curtains the following dawn, Merlin's eyes were already open and waiting for it. As the moon had observed him peacefully, the old warlock had alternated between pensively staring at the vials of blood, flipping through the pages of several specific books, and just pacing while he muttered to himself.

The sun's prying rays seemed to urge him to his feet from his seat on his bed and he shuffled outside. Perhaps a breath of fresh air and the meditative stillness of dawn would help ease his speeding, tangled thoughts.

The deep breaths, perfumed with flowers waking and grass catching dewdrops, were quite nice. Merlin matched his breathing with long, slow steps, feeling the earth cradle his foot and watching small ground plants seem to shift to the side of his path. It was all shattered by a high-pitched call of both curiosity and challenge, as if daring the world to deny her an answer.

"Merlin," his steps had altered to move his aching body toward the sound. Again, his body was of a mind separate from his.

The trees thinned into a small clearing, no larger than one room in his home, though it appeared to be unknown. He had only been to it once, but, oddly, no useful plants grew in it or within a few yards' vicinity of it.

The ancient warlock could only barely remember the last time someone had spoken his name, had known his identity, or had called for him. The last memory of responding to such a call was even fainter. But he had gone to it nonetheless, and tried not to sob at the deep sense of familiarity in his soul, despite his knowledge that no such scene had happened like this.

Susetthe stood with a stature that Merlin assumed uncommon for most children, as she faced him squarely. Despite its vacancy, the clearing had only grass, which was beautifully green and uncannily neat. No stray twigs or fallen leaves interrupted it, no animal's previous footsteps tangled the thin blades. Susetthe, meanwhile, stood in a brown dress, the frayed edges contrasting with her light ankles, and a few strands of hair curled around her forehead and cheeks as they escaped from the messy tie at the back of her head. Her shoulders were squared, as thin as they had been the last time, and her expression was an eerie mixture of childish curiosity and wise calculation. Bright eyes wide but never ceasing their movements as she watched everything around her simultaneously, lips in a line, jaw still.

"You're here," she breathed, the wariness melting as the awe once again took over. She had called him, and he came. Merlin felt similar emotion loosen his body as he nodded.


	15. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Secret Friend With the Secret Stories**

It took a fortnight and two days for Merlin to wrap his ancient, cluttered mind around Susetthe's repeated presence; and another full day of playing a game where she hid and he searched, for him to realize that he had already grown used to her and greatly enjoyed the energetic, witty, slightly-cocky child. He spent everyday with his friend—his only friend, really—playing games that she made up or telling her stories, both fantastical and taken from his memories. They were difficult to speak, and Merlin frequently wanted to cease and leave, but Susetthe had a way of convincing him to continue. Perhaps it was the way her eyes lit up with interest and awe, or she cocked her head and narrowed her eyes when she just knew he was lying or skipping details. Or, more likely, it was the way she never grew upset at them, or him, even when he began to include the less pleasant details.

Merlin spoke of Arthur for the first time in a thousand years.

Autumn was beginning, he could tell by the crispness in the air and how the leaves in some of the trees began to pale from deep emerald green to mint and saffron. Susetthe sat beside him in the middle of the clearing, hands clasped and rubbing absentmindedly in her lap as her eyes were stuck fast to the side of his wrinkled face, while he sat facing forward into the forest. He didn't look at her, and either she simply didn't care or she just didn't ask why. Merlin wasn't sure which it was.

He had just finished telling her about the time he and the prince had hunted the castle for the king's ghost, a particularly scary story, yet she had only gasped and her blue orbs had widened to the size of saucers. He'd asked several times if she wanted him to switch stories, but she had insisted on him continuing. Now, the two sat in silence as both processed and absorbed it.

Then, she giggled and grinned, eyes glittering. It was such a Gwaine-like expression, Merlin knew immediately that he was about to be teased. "I can't imagine you as much of a poet," she stated, mock-thoughtfully. "Both you and Arthur seem far too clumsy and dumb to recite lovely songs and praises."

The girl snickered as Merlin playfully nudged her shoulder, and the old man bit his tongue. Susetthe had no qualms saying any names, yet despite the fact that he had told her them all, he still felt his heart lurch. If he hadn't become numb by now, he probably never would. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to, and found himself rather glad he still reacted.

"What do you imagine us as then, O all-seeing one," he teased back, smirking under his heavy beard. Her lips pursed as she squinted seriously, tilting her head in thought.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, voice trailing slightly as the child got lost in her thoughts. "Mama and Papa—and Gwaine too—think you're my imaginary friend, and that I'm doing this thing where you dream during the day—but you're awake, and your eyes are open." Merlin nodded, showing he understood what she meant.

"I just imagine you," she smiled easily, satisfied with her answer despite its vagueness. "You're my secret friend with the secret stories."

"What do you mean?"

"No one else knows you, so you're secret," she said slowly, as if he were the child. Merlin nodded patiently, humoring her. "And you tell your stories really quietly, even though there's no one else here. So they're secret," she shrugged rather conclusively.

Merlin straightened and blinked, suddenly feeling as confused and inept as he had in his original youth—never sure how to take people's comments to him, or how to respond. His mind flashed to when he'd first met Guinevere in Camelot. They both had been clumsy, embarrassed, and tripped over their own and each other's words. It had never even occurred to him that she had been flirting. Just as then, he never really thought that Susetthe was so very intelligent and purposeful.

Soon after, the sky was beginning to darken, signaling the sun's final hour of life until the next dawn, and Susetthe darted to her home after a grin and half-spoken, half-called "until tomorrow". When the child, and her slightly too large dress, were over the threshold of her family's current home and the wooden door was firmly shut behind her, she set to work tugging off her shoes. She heard the footsteps before she saw him, and glanced up through stray hairs to see her older brother standing in front of her, his toes inches from either side of her ankles.

"Where've you been?" he asked nosily. He was eight years older than her, and loved to lord it over her.

"Playing in the forest," she answered automatically, resisting rolling her eyes. She wondered if he actually was silly, or if he just liked bothering her everyday with the same question as soon as she stepped inside. She didn't see why it was a problem; she was home everyday before sunset, and never strayed farther than a few minutes from the house, just as Mama and Papa said.

"By yourself? All day?" he asked dubiously, as usual. This time, she looked at him pointedly, pausing her movements in putting her shoes neatly in the corner. Honestly, Gwaine.

"Yes," she answered, knowing that was the answer they liked. "With my secret friend." Imaginary friend. Sometimes, Susetthe wondered if they were right and she really was imagining the old magic man with the amazing stories, and perhaps she really was mad. But she had soon dismissed it because she thought everything else normally and rightfully—it wasn't like she also saw ghosts like the lady who they used to live next to.

"What kind of stories does he tell you, anyway?" Susetthe stood and arched an eyebrow up at him. Even standing, he was still much taller than her, but right then he looked like the younger one with his face scrunched up and his eyes downcast. Gwaine didn't like to be ignorant, it made him uncomfortable to not be knowledgeable or in some control of anything. Especially when it came to Susetthe. He'd never asked this, though, and she felt pity and empathy even as she answered,

"Secret stories, dear brother," she smiled kindly, edging onto her tip-toes and then jumping to peck a kiss on his cheek. She stepped past her brother and greeted their parents in the other room as he followed, slowly and with a very funny expression.

Autumn picked up its speed, and daily the two sat in their clearing and amongst games and stories they watched the leaves change colors before their eyes. Merlin had seen over a thousand autumns, but Susetthe hadn't, so he figured he would imitate her glee for her sake. But it proved to be less of an effort than he had predicted, because this autumn seemed particularly vibrant and there was a crackling energy in the air that flowed into Merlin, relieving his old bones of their ache and supporting his thin body.

Today his step was even lighter than usual, and he grimaced as he rather noisily stepped into their clearing. He was anxious to get to Susetthe. Well, he always was, just in case she'd somehow faded once again in the many hours they were apart. But today he was especially, for he had finally completed it after so many years.

"Merlin!" Susetthe greeted happily, her high-pitched voice slightly singing his name. The old man smiled in greeting to his friend, and in one stride was kneeling before her, tilting his head a bit to be eye-level.

"Hello," he answered, clasping his hands behind his back and letting his long tunic and robe pool on the ground, the loose sleeves covering his fingers. "I have something special for you."

Her eyes lit up excitedly and her shoulders straightened as the child eagerly waited for Merlin to pull out her present which, she was sure, was in his hands behind his back. Of course, she was right, and he cradled the small, delicate amulet in his palm. Merlin's head lowered for a second, as if looking around his shoulder, so that the girl didn't see his golden eyes as he completed the spell. When his eyes met hers again, sapphire meeting sky blue, his hand was out with the necklace in his open palm.

Susetthe gasped, her mouth dropping open and eyes widening as she took in the beautiful thing. On the thin chain hung a circular peridot, encircled by what looked like several extremely tiny glittering gems. It was easily the prettiest, most elaborate thing Susetthe had ever seen in her life, let alone owned.

"What is it?" she breathed, her fingers stiff at her sides, refusing to reach for it. Merlin moved his hand closer.

"It's an amulet that will most certainly bring you good fortune and comfort," Merlin said easily. It wasn't quite a lie, but he knew that if he said the real reason she would surely question the reasoning behind it. And he wouldn't be able to convince her of anything then. "I made it, it's magic," he added, knowing that would promise her keeping of it.

Her fingers closed around it, shaky and loosely and Merlin wondered if the amulet would fall back between her fingers. It didn't, and she lifted it centimeters from her eyes to inspect it further.

It was a protection amulet, one that Merlin had begun working on a few hundred years back. It probably could have been created much faster, but he'd had to find, purify, carve, and enchant each gem individually. The spells had been complicated too, involving boiling the gems in various liquids, timing the moon cycles, even the seasons had influenced the magic. Then, finally, he'd had to tie all of them together with a simple incantation spoken before the intended wearer. That had taken the most time.

But there it was now, and Merlin could see the faint golden tendrils of the spells spreading from where it rested on her chest to wrap around her. The spells worked together to ensure that Susetthe would live a complete life this time, and protected her from severe injuries or illnesses as well.

He wondered if that was cheating destiny somehow, but had grit his teeth and practically growled in anger at the thought. Destiny had ruled his life, and subjected him and countless others to so much suffering and sadness and pain, he refused to not even try. He had fought to ensure his king had united Albion, and he would fight to ensure that this child who kept coming to him would live the full life she deserved.

Finally, as Susetthe tucked her chin to admire the necklace once it was clasped around her neck, Merlin's eyes glowed again. The amulet would always find her in her next lives—for now, he was sure that she was a recurring soul, at least.

"Thank you, Merlin," she beamed. He nodded, matching her smile though his was much softer and weaker. "Is this secret, too?"

"Always keep it with you," he answered, hoping that would work as an answer. The amulet was enchanted to always find her if they separated, but he could only manipulate time so much. She nodded, seeming to understand much more than she ought to, as usual.


	16. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: The Reward of Lady's Love**

The peridot sparkled in the low sun of late afternoon, as Susetthe sat cross-legged in the clearing while the forest around her began to prepare for the night. She had to return home soon, as always, but after another day of running around with her friend she had tiredly asked him to finish the day with yet another story.

They were all very similar—the two friends, who clearly loved and thought of each other as brothers—and her secret friend refused to admit it, but she knew that the stories were not the fantasies he said they were, but were very deeply rooted in truth. But even with his little magic tricks, Susetthe was sure that it would be impossible. Mama and Papa had stories of King Arthur, too, but they said he was a very, very long time ago, much longer than any man could live.

Still, she ignored the rationality. They were special to her friend, and that was what mattered. They were also beautiful.

As he was nearing the end of one—the prince had been fatally wounded, and Merlin had had to travel far and battle beasts and an evil witch to find the cure—a thought occurred and her child mind did not think of it much before saying it.

"Merlin, you saved Arthur a bunch of times, right?" she began, having enough sense to at least know her facts first. She'd learned from the several times Gwaine had ended up with itches and rashes, to identify the bushes and plants before jumping into them.

"Well, I helped him, yes, but he was great and strong all by himself," her friend answered, frowning as he thought of where she was going. Susetthe resisted sighing at his answer. It wasn't where she was heading.

"But you made sure he was always okay," her question was more of a statement, but he nodded in confirmation anyway. "Did he reward you?"

In all his stories, he never really ended them. In the fairy tales Mama had told her since she could remember, the knight fought battles and evil beasts and in the end, married the princess and they became king and queen of a beautiful land. The knight was always celebrated and awarded with the beautiful lady's love. Merlin was never a knight in his stories, only Arthur, but still.

"Are you a knight too, Merlin?" Perhaps he had simply forgotten to mention that detail, and his stories actually were very much like her fairytales.

"No," he said simply, frown smoothing out under his snowy hair and beard. He didn't seem to understand the important detail, but it left Susetthe confused. How did he get the beautiful princess then, if he wasn't a knight? Or never became a knight? Susetthe's thoughts began to spin.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Why what?"

"Why weren't you rewarded too? You deserved it, you did super good and heroic things," Susetthe tried to explain her confusion, knowing her voice was unfairly harsh to her friend but too caught up in her fire. It ran in the family—really, Gwaine's insistence when he wanted something was colossal.

"I didn't ask for or want a reward," Merlin spoke calmly, voice low and heavy. But Susetthe knew her secret friend better. It was a similar tone he took during certain parts of his stories that were especially heartfelt. "I did it because it was my destiny and the prince was my very dear friend."

Susetthe understood that. But still, her child mind didn't see the full connection, the real answer. She opened her mouth again, but Merlin's voice cut harshly before she could speak.

"A lot of bad things still happened, Susetthe, many still suffered in wars and attacks and thing that I could not foresee, or stop in time."

Her secret friend's words were hurried, strung together even as he bit them out. She winced, not used to the anger burning in his dark eyes or how his lips curled coldly around the words. Her vision clouded and blurred, but she blinked quickly until her eye muscles hurt and straightened her legs to stand.

"Susetthe," Merlin called softly when she'd gotten three steps back to her home. "I'm sorry for snapping, it is just very sad."

Susetthe smiled and nodded, her eyes instantly cool and no longer burning. He said he was just sad, and it made sense, she supposed. She hadn't quite expected him to say it, though.

But really, she had always known that.


	17. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Half**

The family had lived in the quaint house, isolated from the civil war, for a year before they decided to think about returning to their real home, much closer to the larger towns. The problem with their incredibly lucky safe house was that they were all but cut off from the rest of the country, and so they had no news of how the civil war was progressing—who had won, if it had ended, if their home was one of the many that was burnt to the ground in the fray.

Susetthe felt as though a good half of her world was crumbling when it was announced one evening at dinner—that evening just days from the exact anniversary of their arrival—that her Papa and Gwaine would be traveling to their old home. They were going as scouts for her and her Mama, to see if it was safe enough for them to resume their lives. The reality was something to swallow, thick and sticking to the walls of her throat and making the process difficult. She'd always known this new home, with its forest to run in and host the make-believe games with Gwaine, where she met and talked with her secret friend, was temporary. But a year was a long time in the eyes of a child who was just freshly seven years, and the temporary-ness of it had faded and she'd grown too used to this life to readily leave it. The child wondered how she was to go about the time until the men returned.

Well, she knew for certain that she wouldn't do what she did the first two days. They had no knowledge of the current events, and thus no knowledge of what Gwaine and her Papa were heading into. What if a new regime had been installed, one that was harsh against outsiders or those who had not displayed blind loyalty, and her brother and her Papa were executed on the spot? What if, even before then, bandits attacked them? What if one of them got wounded or ill, and neither knew health as well as her Mama?

At midday of third day they were gone, Susetthe finally stepped out of her home, dressed and bathed and not quite feeling so ready to throw up her breakfast. There were a few short yards of clear grass between the back wall of the house and the forest. Right at the edge of the trees, stood an old man with white hair flowing down his head and around his face and chest, in a long, ragged red tunic and robe set that trailed to the floor and was something Susetthe had never seen anyone else wear. She smiled softly at her friend, aware that no one else could see him there and, as usual, her Mama believed him to be her imagination.

"Hello," she greeted pleasantly when she had joined him at the edge. Her Mama had asked her not to go too far today, because no Gwaine was there—not that her brother really did much supervising anyway, always running off and trying to hunt or fight a tree. But she obeyed nonetheless, and the two waited to converse until they were a few more yards into the trees.

Susetthe stopped, aware that their clearing was still farther. "Mama asked me not to go too far today, Gwaine and Papa are gone," she explained when Merlin turned back to her, and she grimaced when she felt her voice waver during the last part.

The old man knelt to be at eye-level, his sapphire eyes narrowed in concern. "What is troubling, Susetthe?" he asked quietly, coaxing an explanation and her sadness out of her.

"Papa and Gwaine went back home, Merlin," she said softly, barely above a whisper as if afraid that, spoken aloud, the words would solidify her fears. "What if they get hurt? Or sick? Or lost?"

"Susetthe—" Merlin began, itching to soothe the child's nightmares, but she rolled over him.

"We do not even know what's home anymore—what if it got destroyed during all the fighting? Mama won't speak much about it, but I know. I know why we left. And, and, what if there's bad guys in it who will be mean or steal our stuff or Papa's and Gwaine's stuff? Or, or—or—" she choked as her momentum began to run out, and Merlin quickly jumped in.

"Susetthe, listen to me," he demanded, his voice harsh enough that the girl blinked. The old man was always so kind, gentle, his voice and even his laughter quiet. The sudden power in it now surprised her. Yet, it didn't scare her, he noticed.

"Your Papa is a wise man for bringing your family here, where you could be safe, and so he will be smart on this journey," Merlin reminded her. "Gwaine is young now, but I do believe that with all his practice and learning that he will be safe now—he will live to one day be a great, brave man."

If Susetthe noticed his voice thickening, she didn't say, but he took a deep breath that rattled in his empty chest. Both pride and agitation swelled to hold his throat and cloud his mind as Merlin fought to reassure the child without confusing her. Or, as she usually did, allowing her to see more.

"Merlin," she began softly, and he simply nodded. "Is your magic real?"

Her voice was a whisper, her shoulders curled into her chest so that her body looked even smaller than usual. But it was her face that spoke to him. Her lips were slightly parted as the question finished falling from them, the corners tilted down slightly. Her brow was furrowed, a few tiny creases between her eyebrows. The light blue orbs were wide and glassy, displaying a deep, swirling abyss of fear, hope, desperation, and intuition. Always intuition.

"Why do you ask?" Merlin murmured. It wasn't that he'd ever deny her answers—not if he could help it, that is—but it wasn't asked in the usual way of a small child hearing bedtime stories about unicorns.

Her pale throat twitched as she swallowed. "I gave Gwaine the necklace you gave me, since you said it was magic and would keep me safe. I want it to keep him safe," she admitted, her words unknowingly hitting Merlin in the gut.

He stayed silent as he processed, not wanting to stutter in front of his dear friend. The truth was, Merlin had no idea how the amulet would work now. The longer spells had all been fairly general protection, working for the wearer rather than anyone specific. But then he'd gotten more complex, tying the amulet to Susetthe's lifetimes, and completing them all in her presence. The great warlock could not answer if it would work as a general protection charm for Gwaine, or anyone other than Susetthe, or was just an ordinary pretty necklace now.

The ice trailed down his spine and rooted itself in his shoulders and the back of his neck when he realized another question he could not answer—did this leave Susetthe vulnerable now?

All his hard work, gone. Susetthe again able to be snatched away at a young age, right before his eyes. Only for him to wait God-knew-how-many more years for her return.

"In this instance, my dear," he answered softly, ensuring that his gaze burned into hers to make her certain. "Gwaine will be alright."

He had the vials to check, he could peek into Gwaine's and perhaps help him. Just as he had done for another friend in Camelot so many, many centuries ago. Susetthe's eyes remained wide and he could see she was still uncertain, but her shoulders no longer rose with fear-laden breath and she nodded surely. Merlin watched that abyss in her eyes suddenly find a bottom. Beneath the swirls of emotion, a steel core lay, ringing like a knight's sword, hope and determination.

Merlin had endured far worse periods of time than the next three months that Susetthe's Papa and Gwaine were away. He'd lived utterly alone, barely even speaking outside of practicing incantations, for centuries at a time.

Now, he had a very dear friend, even if she was a child who had no idea of the previous bonds they had shared over time. They still played games and told stories every day, though now she arrived only at noon and far before the sunset; Susetthe smiled and giggled and ran, but there was always an underlying edginess and impatience that she just couldn't completely hide. Merlin was saddened that she was so obviously in distress, yet he could do very little, although he did feel a spark of pride that, instead of sitting at home crying and sewing like many girls probably would, she seemed to personally scold the gods for the turn of events. Headstrong, proud, and daring.

She always was the same, one way or another.

"Does your mother have an idea of when they will return?" Merlin asked when he had finished a particularly grand story, and she had merely been silent for minutes after. The story had been of when he had first met Lancelot. Though his heart ached at the distant memory of the great man and friend, Merlin had told it to inspire Susetthe and give her some extra hope.

"Yes," the girl answered simply, smiling slightly though it showed no teeth. It did, however, reveal small dimples and was in thanks, so Merlin couldn't help but smile softly as well. "She doesn't say very much though, I think she does not want to speak too soon."

Merlin nodded, understanding the superstition. His long, gnarled fingers twisted in front of his crossed legs, and the two sat in companionable silence. Wordlessly, Susetthe wove her fingers between his from her position across from him, but instead of connecting their palms like he thought, her fingers continued to move. Nudging and guiding his fingers with her small, sweet ones, Susetthe led Merlin in the simple art of making flower crowns. They were just strings of flowers that actually weren't flowers, but types of weeds, but Merlin didn't mention that since it was the only time since the men had left that Susetthe's face was free of any sign of tension.

Mama had told Susetthe that they would be leaving soon, but Susetthe hadn't thought much of it because 'soon' in parent-language could mean anything from the next hour to the next half-year, as she'd learned rather disgruntledly when she had asked to get her birthday presents four months early.

Her Mama woke her very, very early one morning—so early, that the sun had not even risen yet. Susetthe thought it ridiculous to be waking before the sun did, and she ignored Mama's hurried, half-hearted request for her daughter to brush her tangled mass of curls. Well, if she wanted her to brush her hair and look nice, she shouldn't have asked before the sun was risen.

In front of the door were two trunks, just a bit smaller than she, and two smaller bags. Susetthe's eyes widened and she felt the thick, sluggish fog of sleep immediately dissipate as realization sparked to life.

She eagerly followed Mama and grabbed the handle of one of the trunks while the grown woman took the other and the two smaller bags.

"You have to be quiet, alright? We're leaving so early so that we don't attract attention if there are bandits," Mama instructed gently, trying not to scare her child but also urging that she understand. Susetthe nodded seriously, squaring her shoulders and setting off just two steps behind her.

Her tummy felt odd, like the food she'd eaten last night and the piece of bread she had now were stomping and tumbling in it. She was excited to return home—she would see Gwaine and Papa and other children again, it was the house and village she had grown up in and it was home, and she would be able to play in the river again. Her village was next to one, and there was only another month until the water would be comfortable to swim in. Even in the early dawn, when dew hung on the dark grass, Susetthe could see the thin layer of snow that had accumulated beginning to slowly move on.

But Susetthe was quite clever for her age—she'd been told—and she knew that there was more than one emotion in her tummy. There was a thin dirt path in front of the house, and it went on for about twice her length before disappearing into short blades of grass. Just a bit past that, a larger dirt path led them through the forest for two miles before coming onto the road that people traveled on. This she knew from their arrival, over a year ago.

So as Susetthe stepped into the grass between the paths, she looked back over her shoulder, still able to see the house and forest behind it. Her lips parted and breath slipped out almost unconsciously as she peered through the semi-darkness, not sure if the slightly darker, silhouette-shaped patch between trees was real or her imagination.

"Goodbye my secret friend," she spoke, though in her chest they felt heavier, as if a vow. "I will remember your secret stories."

It was sadness. Susetthe was leaving her friend behind, imaginary or not. But it was time to return now, as Mama softly called to her from up ahead. Susetthe nodded self-assuredly, before turning her back and walking quickly to meet her Mama again.


	18. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14:**

Finally, Merlin was coming up to his 100 years. Again. Just two more weeks, and then he would be in the body of his youth again. It didn't really ease his mind, it's not as though he would forget or feel any different, but at least his bones wouldn't ache so much and his body wouldn't decaying before him. Plus, hunting and the repairs his house needed would be much easier to accomplish with lean, wiry muscle and natural flexibility.

It was rather irksome that his reform was to the day. Really, what was two weeks compared to a century—hell, compared to the many centuries he'd lived?

The old warlock grumbled petulantly about this under his breath as he walked through the undergrowth. He'd completed his chores and now was patiently awaiting his death—and sleep—and life, so the old man ignored the fact that his legs still took him to the edges of a random clearing that was practically untouched even by nature itself. You'd think he'd learn, even after a damned decade.

"You're late, you know," a voice startled him and the old man's knees wobbled and bent. Gnarled fingers snatched at a nearby branch, and Merlin caught himself before peering, wide-eyed and yet with his teeth showing in his scowl, between the trees. He was on the outside of the clearing, just one layer of trunks separating his feet from the smooth grass.

His scowl melted immediately as he took in the solitary figure perched in the grass, arms loosely hanging over the knees of crossed legs. Merlin stepped closer and his lungs collapse as all air rushed out of them. His legs continued to push forward, shaking and weak but determined, until the old man stood in the clearing as well. The gazes locked on each other, studying one another's face. Merlin saw absolutely nothing—the forest around them could be on fire and he wouldn't know—except the face before him, surrounded by a mop of brunette hair. His vision threatened to blur as the tears filled his eyes but Merlin fought harshly to refuse that, to refuse any interruption.

The person looked back with eyes that were filled with awe, seeming to not quite believe that they were there either.

"You're him, aren't you?" the voice said again, and Merlin's heart stuttered at the familiar voice. So very familiar, and yet he hadn't heard it in so very long. "All this time, you were here."

Merlin nodded eagerly, unable to speak but desperately hoping the affirmation was pleasing. In his mind, how could it not be? A tiny slip of voice did manage to crawl into his throat, and Merlin encouraged it out.

"Hello, Gwaine."

Merlin struggled to sit in front of Gwaine, the young man too stunned to act to assist him until he'd already completed the task. The old man chuckled at his sheepish face. The boy was really a man now, Merlin thought, at twenty-six years and yet still seemed awkward right now. Once they'd both settled, the motions seemed to permanently snap Gwaine out of his trance because he began talking too Merlin's all too eager ears.

"We left, because we thought our home was safe to return to. There was still some fighting, I think," the man scrunched his brows together, not entirely sure what the official story had become. "But we were alright, and we stayed and grew up.

"Not a day went by that Susetthe didn't mention you at least once, and she missed you, but everyone thought you were just a daydream, an imaginary friend," Gwaine mumbled, looking down in embarrassment. Merlin chuckled lightly, the man hadn't changed, still indignant when he was proven wrong. Though, the Gwaine Merlin remembered would've been a bit more hostile about it and probably at least scowled or rolled his eyes. But this was his sister.

"But she was alright?" Merlin interrupted, unsuccessfully keeping the urgency completely out of his tone. The image in his mind, of little Susetthe curled up sadly in the dirt while other children and people played and whispered, made shame twist his stomach in its fingers. He hadn't wanted her to be lonely.

Gwaine picked up on this, nodding his head. "Yes, yes, we both had friends and played every day, and Susetthe even trained with me and my best friend there, Percival, quite often," Gwaine smirked proudly. The man leaned back slightly, relaxing his arms and shoulders and grinning. There was the Gwaine Merlin knew, and the old man smiled.

"One day, barely a year after we'd returned, though, Percival's mother was telling stories about King Arthur—it's a legend practically every child in England knows," Gwaine explained, and Merlin's spine straightened. "Susetthe was so quiet. She's usually pretty attentive to stories, as you'd know, but…she seemed almost anxious.

"That night when we were supposed to be asleep, she told me that your name's Merlin, and that the stories you always told her were very similar to the ones of King Arthur." Gwaine shrugged, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as he studied the old man before him. "I told her that it was a common story everyone knew, but she was absolutely certain."

Merlin couldn't help it. His grin split his cheeks and laughter bubbled in his stomach, shaking his shoulders. It was pride, happiness, and just the pure wonder of it all. He was proud of his little Susetthe, so clever and determined and persistent. She had never stopped pushing for answers, or to prove herself right, in Ealdor—to think, there was a moment he had almost disliked that. The chuckles continued, even as moisture began to smear under his eyes and on his cheeks. Laughter or sobs, tears of happiness or sadness, neither man could determine.

"You alright?" Gwaine asked after a moment, his head tilted. Though, he didn't look at Merlin as some crazy old man, but rather with concern. Merlin nodded gently.

"She has always been so intuitive, so stubborn," Merlin murmured. He then met Gwaine's brown eyes and nodded for him to finish up his explanation.

"Half a year ago, our parents died in an accident a few towns away," Gwaine stated simply, though his voice was heavier. Merlin bowed his head in respect. "We stayed in our own village, but Susetthe was distant. Then, out of nowhere, she told me she was leaving, not permanently but with no idea how long. I think she felt she didn't have such deep ties anymore, since our parents are gone and it's just me and her now."

Merlin swallowed, willing himself to stay silent as he listened, despite the parallels. Though, he really should be used to it by now. Reincarnations, he'd read and now witnessed, often led similar lives.

"I really did doubt her—and you—but I felt similar to her. We could leave now, or else just live in the house our parents had left behind when they passed. I didn't think you were real, but it gave us a direction and I figured that once we got here and Susetthe realized you're not here, we could set off somewhere else. But this would at least begin the journey. I apologize for underestimating you, though."

Merlin shrugged, brushing it off.

"So I told her I would come with her, and here we are," Gwaine said, smiling weakly at the lame finish. He shrugged, though he didn't seem nervous. If anything, Merlin thought as he studied the man's face, he'd seen the expression before: going with whatever life took him through, and ready for it. Then the sentence fully caught up with the old man.

"She's here?" he whispered, as though saying it too loudly would destroy the reality. Gwaine nodded, eyes wide.

"We split up, and I may be older and her brother but even I know not to challenge Susetthe very much," he smirked, earning another full, genuine laugh from the old man. "She told me to come to this clearing, though she had to lead me herself halfway."

"And where is she?" Merlin straightened, beginning to ready his body to stand again. His torso was already pointing in the direction he had known their house to be at, but stopped his slow movements when he saw Gwaine's confused frown.

"She said she was going to you."


	19. Chapter 15

The old wooden door to his small home had never been such a wonderful sight, Merlin thought as he halted his jerky walk. Gwaine was at his side, the man's hands firmly but gently on Merlin's shoulder and arm to help the old man, and Gwaine stopped with him, seeming to understand that the two long friends needed a moment to just take each other in. The men were just several steps from his house.

Susetthe leaned casually, her shoulder propped up on the hinged side of the door and her arms were crossed loosely over her chest. Her curls tumbled messily around her face, which was grinning proudly and happily. She didn't change her position much, only shifting so that she could face Merlin and her brother better, though her eyes were locked on the piercing sapphire ones she'd spent what felt like all of her childhood looking at. Even through the mass of white hair pooling around his face, she could see those eyes and cheeks crinkled as he smiled back at her.

The girl—young woman now, really—stood patiently as Merlin stepped up to his door and stopped again, inches from her. Gwaine stood slightly behind him, dark eyes squinted as he watched the scene intently.

"Merlin," her lips and grin curled around the word, her voice clear and sure and pleased.

"Susetthe," he mirrored. Her slightly mischievous, proud grin softened into a smile and she blinked slowly, basking in the moment.

When her pale eyes opened and his wrinkled, happy face was still filling her vision, her grin grew into a full, beaming smile. Merlin was sure it outshined the sun.

"I remember you, my friend," she said softly, voice thick with pride and relief. "I had to come see if you were still here."

Merlin stepped back slightly, turning not away from her but enough to show that he was addressing Gwaine as well. The man stepped forward. "I am glad you are here." Then, he eagerly ushered them inside, eager to see what he remembered about hosting people, and eager to speak to his friends again.

He knew that the memories the siblings were acting on were just of this lifetime, not of their original meeting, but Merlin didn't care. Instead, he chose to simply be overjoyed and wrap himself in the companionship.

Gwaine and Susetthe's old home was untouched, and the two barely cleaned it or moved in beyond being able to sleep and prepare quick breakfasts there. Any other time, and any other meal, was in Susetthe and Merlin's clearing, or beside the lake he revealed to them, or in Merlin's small home. The old man told them even more stories, amazing Susetthe—she could have sworn she would have heard every one he'd had. But what she didn't know, Merlin could now expand his history, and he told of the stories that had included Gwaine further. He was careful to hide or change the names, sadly, alluding to men as 'the knight' instead of their true names. He also spoke more of his magic, his stories often transitioning from story to explanation and demonstration.

Susetthe, of course, was fully on board and delighted in his magic, her face the picture of awe and her lips forming questions almost as often as they exhaled breath. Still, he revealed nothing directly involving them, such as the blood magic. Or his change back to youth, although it was rapidly approaching.

"How long will you two be here?" he mused to Gwaine on their second day, while Susetthe was outside, still marveling at the lake that was hidden from the world. The young man shrugged, though his voice was slow as he thought.

"Not permanently," he answered. "You seemed happy to see us."

Merlin swallowed as the sting hit his chest with the force of a spear. Of course he was happy; Gwaine's doubt shook him. "If it were up to me, I would have you remain forever," he said, far more truthfully than the younger man would ever know. He went to sit at the table with him, unsuccessfully hiding a groan as his legs bent to the position. He knew by the flicker in Gwaine's eyes that he noticed.

The man might have said something, but his sister's entrance silenced him as she began speaking, the words tumbling out as soon as the door had opened.

"I don't think I'll ever get over the magically hidden lake, are there always such secrets hidden in the rest of the world?" she spoke quickly, slightly breathless and her curls in tangles as her eyes sparkled. "Merlin, please do tell me more. What other magic can you do? Must be a lot, hiding a whole lake can't be easy."

Merlin chuckled. The day before, he'd sat them down upon their arrival and, after regaining composure from his shock and happiness, had promptly begun telling them about his magic. He figured now they were old enough, and considered their return a sign that he ought to open more to them. When they hadn't run, or disappeared the next day, he'd been relieved and even more joyous.

He hadn't told them about his own life, though, and he planned not to. Though that would become harder as his death day grew closer, he predicted. Still, he had two weeks.

"When I was first learning magic—really learning, studying and reading as opposed to just trial and error with tricks in my room—I met a dragon," he announced, knowing her eyes would flash and the girl would practically vibrate with curiosity. He glanced to the side to see her, and was not disappointed.

"Dragons? Where? Are dragons still around—how many are there?"

"One," Merlin said, a bit sharply, because her mouth closed into an unsure pout. The old man nodded in apology for his tone, looking down at the table's wooden top as he sorted through emotions and thoughts. "I met the last of the dragons, hidden under the castle I was working in. We became…not quite friends, but had an understanding. I set him free one night, however, and he betrayed me.

"Though later, another dragon was born, and I and the old dragon united to try to look after him and because there were greater forces threatening us." He watched Gwaine's focused gaze, then shifted to Susetthe's enraptured one.

"But where are they now?" Susetthe urged, her impatience prominent. Merlin just sighed, his eyes falling to the scratched tabletop. It seemed to be an answer enough, because the girl fell silent. Merlin did not like that, though.

"Do not be sad, my dear," Merlin said softly, blue eyes sad but gentle as they peeked through his white hair. He continued when her eyes flicked to meet his, though her head was still bowed slightly. "Everything has its time, and we must appreciate and accept it. I have not seen another dragon since then, but my old friend bestowed a great deal of knowledge that I remember every day of my long life."

She smiled at his assurance, nodding eagerly, and Merlin took it in. Gwaine piped up, however, asking if there was a Sir Percival, since his childhood friend had often boasted and Merlin was now the best source. The old man chuckled at the youths' antics.

"Yes, in fact, the king met Percival during one of Camelot's—and his—darkest hours, when Camelot was being taken over by a witch and the king was in great need of loyal, true friends and knights," Merlin smiled as he began the tale of the noble knight.


	20. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: Susetthe's Story**

"Merlin, what are these?" Susetthe called from the other room. The sun was setting soon, and Gwaine had returned home to prepare a meal while Susetthe had chosen to remain with their friend. Merlin himself was bustling through pots and jars, whether cooking dinner or performing magic Susetthe honestly could not tell. But the noise ceased as soon as she spoke, Merlin having gone still and attentive at her unusually soft tone.

He appeared in the doorway to his bedroom, seeing the girl kneeling before the small extra chest in the farthest corner. It was open, its contents spilled gently in her lap, as Susetthe's hair trailed over her shoulders and around her cheeks as the soft fabric slipped through her fingers as she held up pieces to examine. That was all he could see over her shoulder, but even as he stepped further into the room he knew what she had found.

A small, dismissible chest in the back corner, dusty and dark and assumed to contain whatever extra little things the man needed to be comfortable in his old age. But Susetthe was notoriously curious, never liking a detail to be assumed instead of known. So she had looked in and carefully sorted through the contents, mindful that they could be important. She knew not why they were, but they must be. The two soft blankets were unassuming, but the simple pale blue tunic was obviously far too small for him, and she knew no adults who kept a simple cornhusk-and-linen doll and no man with a hairbrush, unless for their own children.

Merlin sighed, and Susetthe turned her head at the creak the bedframe let out when he sat. She was surprised, she hadn't realized his entrance. His elbows were balanced on his knees, holding his head, and Susetthe turned completely so that she sat on the floor with her back to the empty chest, and her front to him.

"I keep those, just in case," he began, but the man seemed at a loss for words. Susetthe watched as his lips parted and closed repeatedly, his temple framed by long, bent fingers, shoulders hunched over; she did not like it, but this was the frailest she had ever seen him. The girl knew to keep quiet when necessary, as he seemed to want to speak but was still discovering the words.

"I have told you of magic, and the great power it is," Merlin said slowly. "You understand that it works beyond our rational thoughts? Often, it is in ways we cannot comprehend, yes?" she nodded.

"One great magical occurrence is reincarnation," Merlin stated. His voce was soft, gentle, trying to ease her into the idea. Susetthe felt a tightness creep into her muscles slowly, edging along her back as she waited for him to continue. "Some people live many lifetimes, sometimes looking a bit different or with a different name, and often with various lives. But certain aspects always remain the same—things that make them the person. Family, personality, who they fall in love with, certain people they meet. Those who reincarnate have a destiny, one that cannot be completed in one life, or one that may be required in another person's. My dear, I—"

"I am, aren't I?" she cut in, feeling the tension stop taking over her body, but not receding either. She watched him, watched his eyes flash with emotion at her question, before they settled and she knew before he even spoke.

"Yes."

"How do you know?" she leaned forward, eyes wide. Surprising both of them, he smiled.

"I have met you before this life," he answered easily, the words lifting from his chest with ease and without thought. Surprisingly, Susetthe did not feel fear, nor anger. The tension left, replaced with a warmth that filled and stretched her chest, wanting to bubble out of her. Excitement, interest, curiosity, all filled her as pieces seemed to fall into place. A question she hadn't known she'd been asking, was answered.

The old man opposite her, however, still appeared frail and sad. She wondered if it was due to his age, or if he was remembering the lives he said he knew of her.

"Will you tell me?" she breathed, barely daring to speak unless she push him too much.

He nodded. "Those are for you," he said, looking down at the objects cradled in her skirt. "One time that I met you, you were a child and…you were alone. So I took you in for a bit," he paused, breaking eye contact to look at his entwined hands. "I got those, in case you were to come back again as a child. You did, this time, as you know, but you did not need them, so I kept them."

Susetthe digested this. She had known him as a child, she had always felt a sense of familiarity, and his stories…

"Gwaine?" she felt the grin curl at her lips. Oh, her brother would be in such shock, the look on his face!

"The original knight," Merlin whispered conspiratorially. Then, he grew serious again. "You cannot tell him, I'm afraid. Reincarnation is due to destiny, and I do not believe it is time for him to know this just yet. I believe I can, however, tell you of the first time you and I met. A new secret story."

She nodded eagerly, tossing the clothing quickly but gently back into the chest and coming to sit beside him. Despite the fact that she was now a young woman, she still held the same light and energy of the child Merlin had met and adored, and he felt his face lift in his own smile.

"The first time I met you was just after…" he wanted to curse himself as he hesitated. Still, even after all this time and even before Susetthe, the very name made him choke. "After the king had died in a vicious battle," he settled, though he was certain Susetthe understood as her eyes saddened. "I returned to the village I had grown up in, a lovely, peaceful place called Ealdor that was right on the border.

"You must know, Susetthe, I was in a very sad place when I first arrived on my mother's doorstep. I had lost all who I cared for, as well as what had quickly become my home. I had failed, I had watched my best friend die after years of being at his side and defying all odds to keep him alive and well. I was ashamed of myself, and I could not bear to face anyone."

He drew in a deep breath that rattled in his chest, the air too thin to try to fill the void there. Arms wrapped delicately around his shoulders, and a soft warmth whispered against his side as Susetthe curled into him, offering kindness.

"Not anymore," the question was implied, and Merlin surprised himself as he nodded. He did not feel shame anymore, only loneliness and sadness, but he had given up anger and self-pity long ago. They were useless. Even on the days it particularly hurt, Merlin tried his best not to let such old wounds overcome him.

He chose to continue on with the story, rather than try to explain it aloud. "I did not speak to anyone, nor did I have any intention to ever do so. Yet, some time before this, you had come to Ealdor—no parents, Gwaine was a knight and had urged you to find somewhere safe to live nicely. So, there you were, in my home village, practically waiting for me to walk in the door," Merlin chuckled.

"You actually ran straight into me. I had raised my hand to knock on my mother's door and grudgingly announce my return, when you opened it and made to run out." Susetthe's light laugh joined his, and it made the story easier to tell.

Merlin told of his self-pity and moodiness, and how Susetthe, his age and in her first lifetime, had seemed hell-bent on getting him to open up. He told her of how she found him at the lake, how they began to talk and learn each other's stories, how she was the only one he would tell anything real to. Merlin admitted that, at first, she made him even sadder, because Gwaine her brother had died in the same battle Merlin had lost everyone else to.

"I feel I should apologize for my former self, for being so rude," she teased once he'd paused, the smirk on her face anything but apologetic. Merlin chuckled.

"Never," he murmured fervently, and Susetthe's laughter remained glittering in her eyes as she looked up at him. "That day you found me at the lake, I remember being quite angry with you. But, I fell in love with you right then, my dear."

Susetthe's smile, Merlin was sure, dimmed the stars and far outdid the moonlight streaming from his window. There was no trace of mischief or even humor, just pure happiness and awe.

"That story is my favorite," her voice was quiet and slightly slurred, as if she wasn't quite sure she'd spoken aloud. Merlin laughed, feeling it jump from his stomach and it shook his body pleasantly.

"You always say each one is your favorite, and then you hear the next and say that one is your favorite!" he mocked.

Susetthe's retort was quick, off her tongue as soon as Merlin had finished his last word. "Yes, but this one is my favorite of favorites, I promise!" Their gazes locked, both bright with humor and Merlin's smile didn't even feel weakened. The two only laughed more.


	21. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: Of This Life**

Though time had seemed to slow when the siblings arrived, it did not stop. His two weeks had rapidly turned into ten days, and then one week, and in the blink of an eye it was suddenly a day. The last day, to be exact, and Merlin could feel his sleep creeping along his bones as the sun rolled over its peak and it became afternoon.

Though it was still bright outside, Merlin made his friends and himself a simple meal and then went quietly outside. The two remained sitting and talking, pausing as they watched the door close out of the corners of their eyes. Once the heavy footsteps faded, Gwaine leaned forward with his eyebrows furrowed.

"Soon," he said, and Susetthe nodded, uncharacteristically meek.

"I know," she sighed. She glanced toward the closed door. "This surely is his last night." Gwaine nodded and sat back, though his body remained hunched. The siblings knew when they had come and first seen Susetthe's old friend that he did not have long, and they would have to move on soon. With no parents, they had no home and the two had spirits that desired to keep moving, to explore and run in the world. After Merlin's stories and revelation to her, Susetthe wasn't surprised. Still, it meant saying goodbye to Merlin, one way or another, and that brought her no joy.

Merlin stood at the edge of Lake Avalon, his toes carefully in line and right at he edge where the overgrown weeds fell into the water, his eyes shining as he looked at the ancient, unkempt lake before him. There was a shimmering layer above it, as though he were looking at it through glass, the sight carefully folded into the reflection. Merlin saw the lake as he remembered it best—full and alive with the magic that pulsed around it. Its waters full of lost souls, but also of magical creatures who held power beyond their small sizes, or who stood just under the serene surface. With a huff, he guided his legs to bend and drop his body unceremoniously into a sitting position. Despite having reached this point, this day, countless times before, it never ceased to have a certain air about it. Each time, it was an end, and he could not halt the nostalgia and slight disappointment that slipped under his skin and tickled his bones. Another century, another lifetime, come to a close. And still, he had not risen, and Merlin had sat at the lake and waited.

He lay down, letting his body sink into the damp earth and wondering, if he were to lie there long enough, if his old, aching limbs would tangle into the equally old roots and he could fade into that peaceful existence.

Merlin's eyes opened slowly to Gwaine's voice, calling to him from above. The young man was kneeling over Merlin, his brow furrowed in concern but Merlin saw the telltale stiffness of his jaw. His shoulders and face were cast in uneven shadow, the sky behind him darkening into dusk—even the sun wanted to sink into peace.

"I am reaching the end of this life," Merlin stated simply. Gwaine's expression didn't change, but he offered his arm and the old man gripped it, allowing Gwaine to pull him gently upright.

The two walked back to Merlin's small home in silence, though Merlin felt the tension in Gwaine through the man's tight grip, rigid shoulders, and stony face. Merlin spoke to him, trying to ease his discomfort because it hardly seemed fair for his friend to suffer so unnecessarily.

"It is not so bad now," Merlin tried, the words sounding lame even to his own ears. He wanted to chuckle, some things never seemed to change. Gwaine shrugged slightly, his grimace growing.

"Still sad," he muttered, barely pushing the words past his lips, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

It wouldn't be long now, Merlin surmised as the two stepped through his home and into his small bedroom. Susetthe was standing with her shoulder and hip against the wall, propping herself up although the way her body curved into it self it seemed more as though she were halfheartedly trying to sink into the wall. Her eyes could not help but flick to the old figure, but she reprimanded them fiercely to at least attempt to remain at the floor at the hem of her dress. Merlin sat down on the worn mattress with a sigh, swatting good-naturedly when Gwaine tried to help him lean back.

His mind drew up a time, long ago but clear for this moment, of when this old body had been but a disguise as he moved about a castle. He had scowled and snarled and even hissed at the knights who neared him, and they hadn't known any better. A flash of consideration in his mind weighed whether he could that to Gwaine now.

The old man laughed loudly and suddenly, though the two siblings could not fathom what it was he found funny. They exchanged a quick glance before both moving and sitting on opposite sides of the bed, but at the bottom corners as their old friend rested against the top. Susetthe kept her hands in her lap, and Merlin saw more of her back than her front or even sides, but Gwaine placed one palm on the bed and faced him only slightly more openly.

Merlin would have liked to have spoken to Gwaine more, but the young man gave only a murmured question to his comfort before lapsing into his typical stony silence, and then, after barely half an hour, leaving altogether. Only then did Susetthe turn to face him a bit more, though she still kept to her small corner.

Merlin was feeling the sleep now, it began to build a cocoon of warmth and blackness around his body, starting at his back and wrapping to his front. It was at his arms now, slowly growing over him though still far from enclosure. Still, he felt his perception of the world slow, so that seconds blurred into each other and the beige of his walls became a richer adobe color. Susetthe's auburn ringlets were strung with gold, and her light dress seemed to glow against her skin in his vision.

"Susetthe," he murmured, enjoying the velvety name of his dear friend. Her head tilted, and her face finally began to peek out from her shoulder and layers of hair. Merlin knew this was just another night of sleep, like so many others. But he felt the need to speak to her anyway.

It must have been some time, because she spoke. "I'm here, Merlin," her voice was as quiet as his had been. He hadn't noticed any lapse, but still her voice spurred him on.

"You know, you asked me one day when you were little, and I was telling you stories, why I didn't get rewarded or become a knight," he mused, speaking to her though the memory enticed him to sink into a deeper reverie. The girl shook her head, her rich hair shining wildly.

"That was a silly, and rather selfish question, I'm sorry," she said, her voice nearly a snap in her haste to dismiss herself. Merlin chuckled at her embarrassment.

"No," he countered. She was missing his point. "In fact, I thought about it all that day," he continued the tale, hoping she would catch on. She shook her head and scoffed, but Merlin quieted to let her retort. She was finally fully facing him, and he watched her cheeks slowly color and her features jump.

"I didn't mean to cause you discomfort, Merlin, please forget it. You were and still are the greatest man I've ever met, and ever will meet, you don't—" she words began to tumble faster, and Merlin longed for the energy to sit up, reach out, and touch her shoulders to calm her. Instead, he remained lying in his uselessly old body and settled for shushing her. She stopped immediately, and Merlin felt a spark in his chest at the girl's wide eyes, eager to drink in everything.

 **"** I've had your company more than once, and each time was brilliant. When I first knew you, you were my love." His heart stumbled in its steady rhythm at the quick shock across her face. Merlin wasn't sure if it was a painful feeling, or a pleasant one. Regardless, he continued to speak. "Then, when I knew you as a child, I could already see the wonderful woman you would become. You have been my love, and you have been my friend through all this time. You are my reward," he finished quietly, his own tone softening as he spoke thoughts that had swirled in his mind but only in this moment were solidifying. He was in a bit of awe at himself and at the young woman before him, whose face was soft and shining.

"You loved me?" she smiled around her words. Merlin smiled back, raising his feeble arm to meet her outstretched hand. Her fingers were smooth and soft in his rough palm, but she tightened her grasp.

"Yes." You still are.


	22. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18: All My Life**

Susetthe decided that she would hate the moon for the rest of her life, as she watched its light invade the small room as the night progressed. Merlin lay still, hand over each other at his chest as if cupping his own heart in his palms, and Susetthe sat beside his feet, her back unnecessarily straight. She watched his face with her chin tilted up, as though her own rigidity could give him strength. His eyelids fluttered continuously, letting her know that he was still awake, and still aware of her companionship.

Neither had talked much after his story of her, but it didn't feel right to break the silence now. Susetthe was not quite sure how to respond. He hadn't asked for anything, he'd never asked anything of her even when she was a child who would have scaled imaginary mountains for her not-so-imaginary friend. So she didn't have anything to answer. But Susetthe had never been one for quiet, she'd always had thoughts and opinions and ideas, far too many to keep inside a single human body. She'd always shared them.

Merlin seemed out of reach to her, at this moment in time. He was the old man, fading into the next life in the bed before her, and she was young and bright and full of energy. And yet, she suddenly felt as though it was she who was weaker, who was trying to stumble towards him but her ankles were held by roots. He was the raindrops she had tried to catch as a child, cupping her tiny palms and holding them above her head, yet the rain seemed to stubbornly fall everywhere except where she held.

All her life, he'd been there. He had been her secret companion that her childhood self had adored and wished to follow to the edge of the world. Even when she'd left, and discovered he was no longer in the forest behind her next house, Merlin had been her companion in her mind. She'd always thought of what he would say, of how any walk would have been even more enjoyable with him. His voice had been the rustling of leaves under her light steps, the sky piercing through dense leaves was his eyes ensuring her safety as she smiled upward, and she had never feared in the dark because the trees were his silhouette leading her home again. Those had never faded, even as she'd grown and stopped believing in ghost stories.

She smiled slightly at the figure before her. She'd grown up to stop believing in make-believe, only for him to prove magic again to her. Susetthe would not make the same mistake twice.

As if sensing her change in mood, his eyelids fluttered open this time, and her throat tightened as his eyes glowed, nearly escaping his tired, drawn face. He drew a deep, rattling breath, every word taking his physical strength.

"Keep smiling," his voice lilted at the end, as thought a question. Susetthe felt her cheeks split further, and she nodded. He returned her smile with shaking lips, but bright cerulean eyes. Then he closed them again, and exhaled.

Susetthe reached for his clasped hands, her palm lying on the top as her fingers curled around it. He face smoothed, but Susetthe knew that his chest would not move so much again.

"I do love you," she murmured, her lips slipping over the words her mind had not even formed yet. She doubted it was even coherent to him, or if he even heard. Merlin's body did not move in reaction to her voice.

The tears were sudden hot needles in her eyes, splashing against her pupils before spilling down her cheeks. Air was like acid, burning her lungs in short lashes as it jumped out of her as quickly as she pulled it in. She felt her bones shake, but the skin pressed against Merlin's hand did not dare move, and her audible gasps and sobs ripped at her ears but the man before her did not move. Even the damn moon seemed to halt, even nature letting time stop for her. But the moment seemed to drag for years, and it was not a kindness.

Susetthe pressed trembling lips to his cheek, his skin smooth despite the lines and cool to the heat burning under her own surface. The water from her face marred his, and her apology was in the form of tears falling even faster and even shorter breaths.

"I will see you again, my secret friend," the words were clear to her ears, despite her body's refusal to hold that much control. Her lips were barely an inch from his cheek, her breath bouncing back into her face as she continued to disturb the peaceful body.

She bent and tugged gently at his hands, tilting the cupped palms and pressing her face to them. Merlin's stiff, cool fingers curled against her chin and cheeks, her tears pooling in them. She pressed another wet, shaking kiss to them, so that his hands not only held his own heart, but hers as well.

That first moment was always the best. Merlin's eyes would open, and the world would be bright and clearer than he remembered. His lungs would rush to expand, and blood and energy would spark his fingertips and toes. His body would beg him to stand, to breath quickly, to run, to expend its new energy.

Dark, piercing, rejuvenated blue met the pale, early-morning sky. It was not a sight he'd never seen, but it was not the one he awoke to from his temporary deaths. Neither was the fresh chill from the morning air and the dew that had not yet lifted.

Moving only his now-limber neck, Merlin took in the lake at his feet, his body lying beside it with his hands pressed to his chest, curled slightly. Delicate flowers surrounded his head and shoulders, down to his elbows. All were thin, curled petals and pastel colors, making his coal-black hair and pale skin stick out starkly from them. But perhaps that was part of the beauty.

No one was in sight, and as Merlin stretched his senses and his magic, he felt no other presence across the lake, up to his own home. He was alone.

He opened his hands, spreading his fingers out, but was met with only the new, smooth skin of his palms.

Merlin sighed, the flowers giving off gentle scents that attempted to comfort him, for the first time not appreciating them or his new youth. It seemed that this was not a lifetime he would have with Susetthe. He wondered if he would ever have one, as his back and knees bent easily to stand, and his steps were long and loping up the bank to his small home.


	23. Part Four

Specifically, the year 2018. Since I don't know the future, it is approximately as is now in terms of technology, higher education, and geography. Merlin's home and lake, of course, remain untouched because he protects them, even though the world around them has changed.

The county of Cumbria is in the north of England, bordered in the north by Scotland, in the west by the Irish Sea, in the south by the counties Lancashire and North Yorkshire, and in the east by counties Northumberland and Durham. The city Carlisle is in the far north of the county, and the settlement Burgh-by-Sands is near to it. The Roman fort Avallana was at the end of Hadrian's Wall, near the modern settlement Burgh-by-Sands, is believed to be associated with Avalon.

The city of Avallon, France, is also believed to be associated with Avalon from Arthurian legend.

**I don't know exactly how far away these places all are from each other, or how long it takes to travel between them, or any other details of the areas. So, I apologize if my story is a bit inaccurate on that account, but it is a work of fiction.**


	24. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19: Over Time**

"There are many beliefs that the characters reincarnated a few times over the centuries, coming forth as particularly brave soldiers leading armies, or mysterious advisors to kings. One particular story is of a young man in the end of the Napoleonic Wars, in the first years of the nineteenth century," the man explained, smiling fondly at the memory. Gwen mirrored her professor's small, faint grin, her cheek resting in her palm as she sat in lecture.

"This young man, in the stories, jumped seemingly out of nowhere into the front of the Allied army and spearheaded victory in the final battle. Truly, he was in front of the generals, and the white flag was waved only when his sword hovered before the necks of the opposing side. And then, as is in such legends, he was gone. The storytellers name him Gwaine," the elderly man finished wistfully, and Gwen felt her grin widen.

An elbow nudged her arm as a playful scoff reached her ears, and Gwen turned with a mute sigh to meet her friend's smirk. Bridget, like Gwen, was majoring in Classics in their junior year of university, though she claimed to be far less "downright obsessed" with them than Gwen. Where Gwen's mind became lost in the hallways of ancient castles, swirling over chaotic battlefields, and enveloping scriptures etched on stone walls, Bridget's mind put on delicate glasses and translated said scriptures. The two worked well together.

As soon as Gwen's fingers met the air above her head, the professor was looking expectantly at her. She grinned. "Sir, it was that same 'unnamed' man who taunted Napoleon in a bar, and sparked the man's need to compensate by taking over Europe, was it not?" she mocked, but the elder man's head tipped in laughter. His chortles mixed with her light giggles, and a few other halfhearted chuckles from the hall. Gwen thought she heard another laugh, quieter but genuine among her classmates. She didn't try to look around for it though, the professor's attention still being on her.

"In many stories, Gwaine is quite a troublemaker," the professor agreed affectionately.

On Wednesdays, Gwen's classes were over after this lecture, so she and Bridget sauntered out of the building with their arms linked, feet automatically carrying them to the bench their group of friends met at. It was on the edge of the courtyard where most of the school buildings were, in the grass, which was bright but comfortably dry this early in the fall semester. The two settled on the ground in front of the two other students already on the stone, Bridget not yet done teasing her.

"Only you would make jokes about fictional medieval characters as if you actually got on with them personally," the girl rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. Gwen just smirked proudly, but it was ruined by a yawn.

The one sitting in the middle of the bench, Tony, frowned in confusion. "You two just got out of that History Through Stories lecture, right? What's our Gwen gone and said now?" he asked patiently, recognizing their antics. Bridget relayed the story, and their other friends laughed.

"Ah, but Bridget, she does know them! Don't you, Guinevere?" the girl beside Tony, Ginnifer, giggled at using Gwen's full name.

Gwen felt her ears and cheeks heat, and brushed a few dark curls down shyly. This caused Bridget to laugh even louder and loop an arm around Gwen's shoulders and hug her clumsily.

Gwen went to retort, but instead of words, a yawn broke through her lips. Covering her hand politely, she waited for her breath to even out as Bridget leaned back from her embrace and frowned.

"You've been so tired lately, Gwen. What's going on?"

"She's right, you're usually quite pretty without the constant yawns and unconvincing make-up under your eyes," Tony teased, though his face showed concern. Gwen shrugged, zipping her bag fully closed and wrapping the strap on her shoulder.

"Finals are coming up," she reasoned.

"Finals are two full weeks away," Ginnifer raised an eyebrow. Gwen smirked.

"I'm getting ahead, unlike you lazy lot," and with that, holding her chin high in mock pride, she stood and turned away. "Speaking of, got to get back to it," she called. The three waved before Gwen turned her back, just in time for her expression to fall and another yawn.

She was tired lately, that's for sure, but it wasn't over studying. It was due to her waking up in the middle of the night, sometimes startled, and sometimes just plain confused. But always from the vivid, incredible dreams. They were always similar, and so real Gwen would awake and take full minutes to figure out her surroundings.

Small pressure flitted against her arm, just below her shoulder. Gwen kept walking, barely noticing what must have just been one of the few leaves that had finally given up the fight of winter. It was the first week of December, a few still clung to bare branches. When it continued, however, Gwen turned to brush away not a leaf - fingers.

She nearly tripped over her own boots as she turned, startled to see the girl half-jogging to keep at her heels at the brisk pace she'd been walking at. Well, she wanted to get to her room and nap. Gwen glanced the girl up and down, not rudely but trying to place her. She was obviously younger than Gwen, a few inches shorter and with a determined expression but uncertainty in her eyes.

"Hi, uh, Gwen, right?" she spoke, her voice light. And then it clicked, and Gwen smiled.

"Hi, you're in my class, aren't you?" Gwen knew she recognized her. She always sat a bit farther back, and rarely spoke up in class, but the professor greeted her almost as much as he greeted Gwen.

The other girl nodded, her polite smile looking a bit more natural. "Yeah, I'm Lillian. I don't talk as much, and this is only my second semester so I'm below you in other levels. But I study Classics too."

"Gwen let her surprise show. This girl was a full two years below her, nineteen at the oldest, yet in a lecture that was advanced even for the juniors in it. She had to be just as passionate as Gwen was, you didn't get that far just by being booksmart. You didn't want to get that far in Classics - which consisted of reading "dusty old books" and "dead languages" - unless you had your heart in it.

Though that didn't explain why she was introducing herself now. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Lillian," Gwen responded, hoping she had a further point. Lillian nodded, then bit her lip and her eyes flitted away from Gwen.

"I was wondering if you wanted to study together later. The last couple chapters have felt pretty dense to me, so I was hoping you'd be willing to help me break it down," she offered. Gwen nodded, agreeing with her assessment and never being one to turn down collaboration. Curiosity tingled at her neck, wondering why Lillian had approached her now and not quite willing to brush it off as chance, but Gwen filed it away.

The next afternoon, Gwen sat across from Lillian a few tables from the back of the library, both girls' books and notes spread out on the table between them. They'd been reading through the last three chapters and editing each other's notes, trying to clean them up, for the last hour and a half. The next page was the beginning of an analytical essay on Arthurian legends as a whole.

"'The Pendragons have been lost over time, whether because it was always a fictional name adopted by others as a reward or as a bargaining chip, or because it was an actual name but any of the family is long dead…" Gwen began, then laughed halfheartedly. "They make it sound so tragic."

Lillian giggled in agreement. "Yeah, you should hear some of the smaller stories about the fall of Arthur - some get really into the fighting and pillaging due to anarchy, some get into how they must've handled the body. Surprising detail sometimes, for a legend."

"I read one last year that just said all his lands were burnt to be infertile forever- I don't know how that's even around, considering there aren't any giant eternally-burnt forests in the modern-day UK," Gwen joked.

"Some of them get so detailed, probably where my dreams keep coming from, I-" Gwen looked up when Lillian's laughter and voice suddenly cut off, looking intently at the girl's frozen face. Her mouth was still open, as if someone had just pressed pause on her speaking, but the light of laughter in her eyes was quickly dying. She glanced at Gwen and bit her lip. "That sounded weirder out loud than in my head," her grin was weak.

Not sure what possessed her to do so, Gwen leaned forward. "Wait, what do you mean dreams? Like, just read before you fell asleep, or…?" she trailed. Lillian's whole demeanor changed, suddenly looking nervous and shy. Then she sighed, her shoulder slumping in resignation.

"I've got a bit of a weird question...well, something to tell you, too, in addition to the question, uh," she stuttered. Gwen reached across and put her hand lightly on Lillian's arm, so that the other girl's eyes jumped back to hers, and she smiled encouragingly. She'd always had an approachable air, and was often labeled the listener of her groups of friends.

Lillian inhaled, and then spoke quickly. "Well, lately I've been having these recurring dreams. And I guess you could chalk it up to my near obsession with Camelot and Arthurian tales, but I always dream that I'm, like, in that time period. A-and I know this seems rather pointless and random, but the other night I had it again but this time...well, you were there."

Lillian paused, looking up at Gwen shyly. Gwen blinked, trying not to let the surprise tugging at her spine to show too much and discourage Lillian. "What happens in these dreams? What happened that made me be there, too?" she tried to keep her voice light, but Lillian frowned.

"Are you just about to make fun of me? Because you haven't much right, considering you're the loudest in class and-" her words sped up and her arms shot from the tabletop to her sides, leaving Gwen's hand to fall against the wood. Gwen cut her off, though.

"No, Lillian, I'm not!" she kept her voice low to not attract attention, but harsh enough to quiet the other girl. Gwen took a deep breath, and spoke the words her friends would have also written off as obsession, but had bothered her for weeks now, "I've been having weird dreams too. Recurring, about Arthur, like yours maybe?"

Lillian calmed. "I know I sound geeky and weird, but I figured you would be cool to talk to. You're always speaking up in class, so I know you love this stuff and spend as much time in it as I do, and...you're always so kind. I mean, not that we've talked before, but you just have this air about you, makes you seem kind of safe and wise," Lillian shrugged, smiling shyly. Gwen was honestly touched.

"Tell me about yours."


	25. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20: To Share A Mind**

 _"Oi, you've got to do better than that if you want to even bruise me," the man slurs, swaying and smirking. His thick dark hair is messy, obscuring his vision but the skin revealed from his torn shirt shows no sign of bruising._

 _The man scowling at him is sweaty and pig-headed, and technically threw the first swing. All over the score of American football. His opponent could be no more than twenty, yet is beefy and obviously has poor judgment even without the beers he's just gulped down._

 _The man doing all the taunting is definitely a few years older, and obviously holding his alcohol better. The swaying and slurring can't be all drunkenness, otherwise there's no way he'd be unharmed. His t-shirt is torn halfway down the front, but looks like an old college shirt anyway, and his jeans are fitted but soft and flexible with wear. His boots are solid, but not heavy and also are well worn._

 _Behind him, in the back corner of the bar a man sits alone, quiet but watching intently. His shoulders are clad in a beige polo shirt, but his arms on the table have no watch or rings. He looks younger than the brunette fighter, but not by much, though his face has only stubble to accentuate his elegant jaw and high cheekbones. Rich, chocolate eyes follow the fighting's every move, a smirk somewhere between proud and entertained. And then they are looking straight into me. And I am no longer observing, but am corporeal. I feel my tongue, heavy in my mouth, and I feel my heart beating unevenly in my chest. Lancelot. He nods and smiles._

 _Messy hair and broad shoulders dance into my vision as the taunting fighter bounces around, making his opponent's annoyance increase._

 _"Gwaine, you troublemaker," I feel my lips smile around the words, the endearment feeling familiar on my tongue as I watch my comrade dodge another stupid, beefy swing. The smirking fighter turns back and winks at me, before jumping gracefully onto the bartop and kicking the idiot boy's drink right into his face._

"Are we going crazy?" she breathed. Gwen frowned, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I don't think we can both be going crazy the same way," she said.

 _I keep my lips tightly pressed together so as not to allow even my breath to make noise as I spy intently. I'm spying, no point denying it or saying it's an accident. I purposefully wore my old, dirty cloak with the hood that is so grass stained it blends into the ground - thank the gods my subjects are walking in the trees where I at least have some shade from the burning sun._

 _"Ooh, what are we doing?" a voice whispers so close to my ear that I wiggle and nearly snort as the breath tickles my skin. I glare at Rowanna for startling me, and nearly giving away my - now our - hiding place._

 _"Trying not to get noticed by Merlin and Susetthe, duh," I whisper back, unable to hold the glare for long before grinning mischievously. Rowanna grins and plops down beside me, again making more noise than I like "Shh, you'll get us caught you oaf."_

 _She scoffs. "They're far too wrapped up in each other," she argues, though her voice is considerably quieter. We settle in the underbrush at the base of one of the larger trees, lying across the large roots to see our friends._

 _They don't quite walk, but they don't quite stand still either. Their voices are too quiet for us to hear, but I know we both saw the way Merlin's shoulders and head curve towards her smaller figure, and how she almost makes a point to face him completely when she speaks. I'm pretty sure a damn tiger could jump out and they'd only barely look around at it._

 _"Do you suppose he's smiling?" Rowanna asks, and there's no mischief in her voice now. I study her serious face as she watches them._

 _"I don't know, but…" I choose my words carefully. "But I don't think he's not smiling." I don't make sense, but she nods anyway._

 _"He doesn't want to not smile now," she offers, and I nod. Then, "Why the bloody hell are you wearing that?"_

The two girls sat in silence for a moment, their now voiced dreams replaying in each mind more vividly than words could express. Lillian sighed, resting her chin on her arms, folded on the tabletop. She looked tired and forlorn.

 _The dress is surprisingly nice, considering the material is definitely not silk, and it is definitely no noble lady's outfit. But though it is a rougher material, it is still gentle to my skin, and the cut is still rather flattering. The lavender color is sweet against my mocha skin, and the dress dips just enough to be inviting. I hold a silver pitcher in my fingers, overall looking quite lovely for a servant._

 _I stride forward across the stones, my shoes clicking quietly, and push the wooden door just enough to slip through. The room has high ceilings, and is still large despite the great wooden table in the middle of it, loaded with food. I stand in the corner, watching the halo of golden hair that peeks over the top of the high-backed, ornately carved wooden chair at the head of the table. His dark gold crown does not detract from the beauty, but I still prefer times, unlike now, when he does not wear it. I do my job, waiting until they are all seated and ready to begin so that I will step forward and fill water glasses._

 _In the other corner at my side, I meet the gaze of cobalt eyes and I smile at my friend. He grins back, and just like the wine pitcher in his hands, it is crooked. I bite my lip to keep my giggle quiet, he is going to spill that and then we'll all hear the telltale, drawn out shout of "Merlin!"_

 _As the lords finish shuffling into their seats, the mixed greetings begin to die down._

 _"My lord, honored to dine with you this evening."_

 _"Your majesty."_

 _"Good evening, my king."_

 _I keep my smile to myself as I pour his glass first. I call him Arthur._

Eyes shot open, gold flashing in jagged tendrils before disintegrating against the cerulean irises. Air rushed through shaky lungs and a rasping throat, as his heart stumbled to a normal rhythm. Merlin stared at the roof of his home, wide-eyed, trying to make sense of the events. He was young again, and long ago had stopped expecting changes - so when such dramatic ones happened, he awoke in shock and uncertainty.

He remembered very few dreams he'd ever had. In the beginning, every night he saw the faces of those he'd lost, those he'd abandoned, those he'd waited for. For a short time, he'd see them. But over such time as his, all dreams had been lost. When he woke from sleep, a night or a lifetime, he remembered little or nothing.

Sitting up on his bed, Merlin rubbed his face with his hands and exhaled into his cupped palms, not quite sure if he wanted to wash the sights away or keep them in his mind.

Brown ringlets, hazel eyes full of kindness and a hidden wisdom, flashed beneath his closed lids. Merlin had just looked at her, but only seconds later the ethereal glow of the dream crackled as he recognized her. His body was held still, watching her look around and smile, his mouth full of cotton even though he felt his body move ever so slightly.

It wasn't his dream, it was hers. His young hands held a silver pitcher, mirroring her, her body young and healthy in her light dress, her hair messy even though she tried to tame it.

Merlin felt wetness slip from his cheeks to his palms, and his vision was blurred slightly as he lifted his face to gaze around the small, empty room. His limbs felt old and heavy, despite his body having returned to youth barely a year ago. His mind created new weight, greater than ever before.

Gwen had been in his dream - not his dream. He'd had no control over it, it couldn't even be his own memory. Merlin had long forgotten Camelot, everything except a handful of blurred faces and echoing voices. Having another person's dream...not at all impossible or even unheard of, but Merlin hadn't prompted it...which meant…

With wide eyes and all fatigue forgotten, Merlin jumped from the bed and bolted into the other room, clutching the wooden shelf as if it were his lifeline. His heart was racing, his breaths short, all that only increasing as he stared.

Four little glass vials, and four tiny scraps of paper with ink that had bled and faded long ago. Now, he could only make out the large first letters of each, but it would have to be enough. It could only be by miracle that the paper hadn't turned to dust now, but Merlin dared not argue with nature. They were dusty, Merlin rarely remembered to clean them, but it was perhaps the clearest sight Merlin had ever seen.

Three vials glowed, the enchanted blood bright and untouched by time.


	26. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21: Modern**

The university Gwen attended was in Cumbria, so far north in England that the state bordered Scotland, but the grounds were still a bit south of the city Carlisle and the Burgh-by-Sands settlement. Gwen had always loved the more rural areas, enjoyed being able to walk into a field of grass and wildflowers, or be just on the edge of lost surrounded by trees thirteen times her age and ten times her height.

The Burgh-by-Sands area was one of many areas in Europe believed to have been Camelot, but Gwen doubted it. It was impossible to determine where the old kingdom lay -if it ever existed at all - every tale pointed a hundred miles away from the next one. But Gwen had more confidence in northern England, at the very least, though she could never quite explain why.

The university looked much like a castle itself, the front entrance and sides bordered by tall, stone walls, rough and chipped with age but mostly maintained. The buildings were mostly similar stone, with wood and metal doors and tall, narrow windows. Gwen and Lillian sat on top of the front stone wall, comfortably wedged in and with the surface wide enough to hold both cross-legged figures side by side. They looked out onto the hills and thin gatherings of trees, interrupted only by one two-lane concrete road that connected the campus to the town five miles away.

Lillian and Gwen had been meeting daily for the last few weeks, studying material and talking - they had actually reached topics other than their dreams, and found each other's company to be quite enjoyable.

"You know," Lillian spoke up, interrupting the quiet. "I'm not entirely sure I'm happy finals are over."

Gwen looked over at her friend, a concerned expression on her face. She felt she already understood, and felt similarly. The end of finals meant the end of the semester, and holiday for nearly a month. Gwen's home wasn't horrible, or even remotely nasty, so she didn't have a reason to be reluctant. But it was still the end of her time here, at least for a little while. Still, she asked, "Why?"

Lillian shrugged. "Well, I guess it means…"

It took Gwen a few seconds to realize she'd trailed off, but it startled her when she did. Looking round at the other girl, Gwen frowned at her. Lillian's head was tilted and she didn't move, as if dazed, but her eyes were narrowed in focus. "Lillian? Are you alright?"

"What's that?" Lillian murmured, not moving her gaze, but pointing far out. Gwen followed her finger, finally spotting the tiny sliver interrupting the landscape. Too small to be the bus that traveled back and forth between campus and town, but too far away to make out if it was a biker or horserider. She couldn't even be sure if it was moving, or her just eyes playing tricks on her.

"So? A bike, or horseback rider? They aren't exactly uncommon," Gwen made to laugh, but no change in Lillian's demeanor made her uneasy and shook her voice.

"No," Lillian breathed. Gwen leaned closer, refocusing on the figure. The two sat in silence for another half hour, the sun setting and washing the wall in gold. It made the figure harder to see, but it had also grown closer in that time.

The figure was no more than several hundred feet before the wall when the sun completely dropped, the sky turning purple. Gwen's blood froze.

Her lips parted, but no sound escaped her stuck throat and her lips formed nothing. The dusk distorted her vision, but it was as if her very soul was burning and forced itself into her eyes. The figure seemed to sharpen suddenly. Messy black hair, darker than coal, and a tall but thin frame despite loose clothing and the small bag over one shoulder. His face was down, but right then Gwen would have bet her college education.

"I know him," she gasped, her lips moving the same second her limbs moved to throw herself from her seat and onto the walkway. She vaguely heard Lillian call out in alarm, but her heart pounding against her eardrums overpowered any other sound.

Gwen was down the spiraling stone stairs and nearly tripping over the slightly raised threshold, her momentum propelling her outside despite the cold wind she had previously been sheltered from. It bit at her cheeks and ripped her fingers, but she was numb to it as deep blue eyes rose to intertwine with her own chocolate ones. Both lips parted, ready to speak names that were lost to minds years ago, but neither seemed able to push the air needed through their chests.

Even Lillian, who Gwen had blurrily noticed as she ran out next to her,didn't speak, her confused, panting breaths the only reminders that the world still moved around the two figures facing each other.

"I'm Gwen." She hadn't thought to say that, and the words sounded wrong in her mouth, but Gwen spoke and then closed her mouth. Something was better than nothing, she supposed. The boy, a young man just her age if not a tiny bit younger with his gangly limbs and messy hair, smiled. It was crooked and shaky, unsure and weak from a weight she couldn't imagine, but it was genuine.

"I know," his voice was shaky too, and it cracked from disuse. But she knew it. Gwen didn't know how she knew it, but she did.

"You're...but that's…" Lillian trailed, stepping closer to be at Gwen's shoulder, her expression the same. The boy smiled at her too, and nodded.

"Lilly," he breathed. 'Lilly and Gwen."

And then, tears began to spill from his eyes, alarming the girls. Both rushed forward, forgetting that he was stranger that they impossibly knew, each wrapping an arm around one of his and both looking up at him with large eyes. He chuckled, and his voice was smoother than before despite the tears flowing freely.

"This must be so odd to you, but I've waited so very long for you," he spoke slowly, tugging each word from his chest, and Gwen felt his chin rest at the top of her head but it felt familiar.

"Tell us," Lillian encouraged, leaning back just enough to look at Merlin and to nudge him forward. Gwen followed her lead, and he began to talk slowly as the girls pulled him through the hall and into the yard, leading him to the warmth and comfort of the library.

"I lived in Camelot, and served Arthur Pendragon," he said, his voice barely a whisper and his body tensing under the girls' hands. Gwen just gripped him tighter, her body feeling a foreign sense of acceptance despite her mind's initial reaction to scream at the irrationality of it all. "You've been having dreams of it, you remember," he addressed them both, and they both nodded, Lillian shooting Gwen a smile for the beginning of their friendship.

"We knew they had to be something," Gwen sighed. "This all seems impossible, but...I guess it's not, not really."

"I am Merlin Emrys, the wizard who was destined and failed to protect Arthur Pendragon, and the kingdom of Camelot," the words were not for them, but for him and for the world and for nature. They seemed to ring out in the empty courtyard, searing themselves in the stone surrounding the three people. "I have been waiting by the shores of Lake Avalon for him to return, and I've seen others of our time come and go."

"Like reincarnation?' Lillian jumped, seeming to recover from the shock and surrealty. Gwen still took a breath, bidding the mind built by modern ideas of absolute reality to quiet, and allow her soul and the other mind hidden away since childhood to take control. The mind that knew there was more to her than untameable brown curls and too many fantasies of knights and kings and magic.

"Yes," Merlin answered her friend. "With my magic, I could know only some. And then my dreams began to parallel yours, and I knew it must be because it's time you've returned," he smiled at Gwen, eyes glistening but his entire face was lit with happiness.

"How?" Lillian asked.

"Blood magic," Merlin answered, and Gwen felt the tension begin to leave him as he realized they were accepting him, even happy to see him too. "I collected a few drops, and the vials glow when they have returned to this world."

"Do you have mine? Or Gwen's?"

Merlin looked down. "No," his voice laced with sadness and regret. Gwen wrapped her arm tighter around him, as if she could ward the emotions away.

"Have you been here all this time?" she whispered, somehow knowing he hadn't been reincarnating. He nodded. He'd had no rest, no blissful ignorance of his history, of who he'd once been, of who he was supposed to be. Gwen's heart broke for Merlin.

"We're here now," Lillian said, smiling at the two and stopping outside the library doors. She looked at Gwen, then into Merlin's eyes. "I don't know your entire past, but I do know your present. Maybe you've found us before, but now we're here and now we know. So, why did you come to us, Merlin? Anything, name it, and we'll do it for you," her smile and voice was full of strength that Gwen admired her for, and she could see Merlin appreciated greatly.

"I've never found you before," he admitted. "I don't even have your blood, so I don't know where you've been. I'm sorry," he swallowed thickly, but Gwen brushed it aside.

"Who have you found?" she asked, curious about the blood he'd possessed for so long. He reached into his pocket, not the small sack still on his back, and pulled out four tiny glass vials, dusty and warped with age, but each with no more than a few drops of red liquid. Three glowed brightly, nearly pink, while the fourth remained dark.

"Morgana's is dark," Merlin spoke quietly, his voice thick. Gwen felt a twinge of sadness, despite the tales of the evil woman, something long quiet and nearly lost in her soul. Merlin's hand shook and when he spoke next, he seemed to be reciting under his breath, lost in thought and no longer speaking to the girls. "Lancelot...Gwaine...Arthur."

Arthur's was the dimmest, almost as if some of the liquid was actually dark and hadn't mixed with the brighter molecules. "Have you found them?" Lillian pressed.

"No," Merlin said. A beat of silence as they waited for him to continue, but he didn't. Gwen realized. He didn't know where they were, he didn't even know how to look.

"Have you ever found them?" Gwen tried. "Even in...in the past. In their past lives," she tried not to stutter as the words sounded odd but did not feel so.

"This is the first time I've ever left the lake." Gwen's eyes widened, numbers spinning in her mind. While she processed in shock and marveled at the time, Lillian giggled.

"How'd you manage to get here then?" she wondered, looking at Merlin in his wool pants and jacket. He didn't look ridiculous, dressed for country and cold, but he didn't look exactly typical either. Merlin smiled shyly.

"I just barely managed. There's so much now, giant roads and metal automobiles that are so fast-and so loud!" His eyes were wide, and Gwen felt her own laugh bubble in her chest. Merlin looked so startled, but there was a vibrancy about it, instead of fear that sent him pale and shaking, he seemed curious.

"Well, you have us now. We can help you," Lillian said, humor still lilting her voice.

"Starting with new clothes," Gwen said, looking at the university apparel shop next to the library, then back to the boy in front of her. Lillian smiled at her, and then both looked to the boy, who nodded with his eyes still a bit wide.


	27. NOTICE

Dear readers,

I recently came across a warning that there are multiple sites that are mirroring FFnet, and when I googled my stories, they showed up with links to these sites. I did not post or express permission for these stories to be posted there, so this is theft and plagiarism. I work hard on these, and it makes me very angry to see them somewhere else.

So yeah guys don't steal it's not cool. I filed reports to Google Spam and hopefully they'll be taken down. But until then, I'm not going to post on this site anymore. You can find Those Who Waited and Innocence (my OUAT/peter pan fic) in completion (woohoo!) on

I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I was very startled and upset by this. I hope you guys like this story enough to find it on wattpad (which is an awesome site btw), and I'll return to posting here as soon as I can :)

All my love,

kkshootingstar


	28. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22: Lancelot du Lac**

"They can't be far," Lillian declared, putting her mug on the table with a bit more force than necessary. Gwen arched an eyebrow. "I mean, if you're the reincarnated form of a great knight from the greatest kingdom and tales of all time, you wouldn't be on the other side of the bloody globe. You'd be near it, any phenomena is always near its origin."

"By what law do you figure that?" Gwen snorted humorously. She hadn't given up, not nearly, but she didn't see how Lillian was right.

"Every law of any scientific event, or natural disaster, or story," Lillian said pointedly. Gwen sighed.

They'd fixed up Merlin and jumped onto the first train south, explaining the modern world to him throughout the trip. The three were still in England, and now debating staying and circling again, or going into France. Merlin wasn't quite sure where he came from, having gotten lost in the twisting maze of roads and buses and trains, so Gwen and Lillian had pooled more credible tales' locations. But it all felt wrong so far, and Merlin had insisted that nothing was familiar.

Now, the three sat in a cafe trying to decide what to do next. The girls had called their parents and said they were going traveling for the holidays, but it would soon become a matter of money. Public transportation got expensive after a bit, as did hotels and food. They'd been running around England for a month, and now were running out of anywhere to go except back up north.

"I have to return soon," Merlin murmured, looking down at his clasped hands in his lap. While Lillian demanded why, Gwen leaned forward. No, not at his hands, but at the tiny object in them. The vial of Arthur's blood. It was still mixed, not entirely glowing but not entirely dark. That was why.

When she leaned back and tuned into the conversation, Lillian was quiet. Gwen spoke up, finally asking a question that seemed a bit silly, but had been bothering her nonetheless.

"Merlin," she started, thinking it over for a moment. "Do we...when we...are we the same?" She still was a bit shaky with the grammar when talking about your own reincarnation. But he smiled, his eyes glowing with warmth.

"Yes," he said softly. Merlin could be energetic and clumsy, as he was once he'd gotten comfortable and happily joked with the girls. And he could easily become soft and control emotion powerful enough to stun Gwen.

"Who exactly were we?" Lillian followed Gwen's thought.

Merlin was soft and emotional now, but still smiling. "We all called you Lilly, my friend in my home village before I left to work. When I came back after...after everything, you were still there. Just as sweet, and just as blunt," he smirked playfully at her. Lillian grinned happily.

Then Merlin looked at Gwen, and on instinct she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. Not in threat, but because she knew that there was far more to her and Merlin's story and she tried to ready herself as best she could. Merlin noticed, and his eyes softened further in recognition.

"When I came to Camelot, you were my first friend," he smiled. "We were great friends, you and I, always at each other's sides and...and at Arthur's. I witnessed you grow and become great over the years. You went from a sweet, shy serving girl to perhaps the greatest woman I have ever known in all this time," his voice drifted as he remembered, and Gwen's breath caught as her mind seemed to just barely skim the same memories, not quite accessing them but knowing they were there.

"Guinevere," Gwen's heart caught too. That was on her birth certificate, but only because her aunt loved the tales as much as she and had insisted. And it wasn't what she introduced herself as. Guinevere was blonde and grey-eyed, and a noble lady, not the serving girl Merlin described and especially not with brown-

All three at the table froze. Merlin matched the girls' wide eyes. That voice hadn't been his. But then his cobalt eyes slid past Gwen's shoulder and his mouth parted. Gwen turned around slowly, her body inching its way around and her eyes last to peer over her shoulder at the man standing behind them.

"And who was I?" the man asked, eyes darker than the bitterest chocolate flicking from Gwen's face to the boy sitting across from her. His voice was not unkind, in fact it was tinged with eagerness, as if just waiting for the answer so that he could celebrate.

It flashed in Gwen's mind the same moment Merlin's voice seemed to echo in the noisy, crowded cafe. "Lancelot," he answered, his tone caught somewhere between anticipation, relief, happiness, and sadness. The man's angular face broke out into a smile, one that made Gwen's breath hitch and her stomach flutter, and then strode forward. Before Merlin was even fully standing the man wrapped him in his arms, Gwen and Lillian watching and catching the man's whispered words.

"I-I don't know how...but I do. I know you, I know us all," Merlin just nodded, clinging to him. The man kept one arm around Merlin's shoulders as he turned and embraced Gwen. She buried herself in his hold, her veins buzzing as his touch inspired the same satisfaction and rightness as completing a thousand-piece puzzle.

When they finally pulled away from each other, it was surprisingly Lillian who spoke first.

"Lancelot," she exclaimed, face bright. " _The_ Sir Lancelot." The man smiled, almost reverently by the soft curve of his lips and how his eyes shone like molten bronze, and nodded.

"It seems so," he agreed. "I usually go by Lance. I've been having these dreams...and I don't know, it seemed crazy but I grew up knowing to always follow my soul, to listen to the gods. After months of the same images, I just got in my car and drove until it felt alright to stop."

All three nodded, understanding at different levels and slightly different backgrounds. Lance smiled, and the puzzle felt just that bit more complete.

The four lost souls sat in the cafe for another hour, listening to Merlin tell what he could remember of their lives, until he either couldn't remember or just couldn't speak more, and then Lillian or Gwen or Lance would speak up and deftly shoulder part of his weight. They also learned that Lance had gone to university but only for two years to study mechanics, and then had taken over his father's garage and hardware shop in the city of Avallon, France.

"You drove up here from France?" Lillian had laughed, and Lance had grinned almost shyly before correcting himself.

"I drove up to the coast, sold my car for a chunnel ticket and another car once I got into England. I've been taking apart cars my whole life, it wasn't hard to find something that was priced for looking like a piece of crap but it's lovely underneath," he grinned proudly. Lillian shrugged, obviously feigning disinterest.

"It would have been a better story if you'd driven all the way," she smirked. Lance narrowed his eyes playfully.

"Well, I did say I bought a chunnel ticket, I didn't say that's how I crossed the English Channel," he suggested, thinking he'd won now.

Finally, Lancelot asked to see the blood magic, and Merlin pulled from his pocket all four. The man held his own, his palm stretched flat and his hand shaking slightly as though scared he'd drop it. After studying it with eyes as liquid as the blood inside the vial, he looked to the others still in Merlin's hand.

"Well, I suppose we'd better find the others," he said quietly, looking around at them, his eyes serious. Gwen nodded, reaching across the scarred wood and wrapping her fingers around Merlin's. The four stood from their table and stepped out of the cafe, faces no longer split with smiles but not heavy with sadness either. Merlin made no move to ask for the vial from Lance, perhaps ready for it to leave his possession. Gwen wondered if he had ever really wanted it at all.

Lance's car was an old, rather dirty grey car that was one of those models that wasn't quite a minivan but wasn't exactly tiny either. At least, that was Gwen's label, she didn't really know cars. It had two seat in the front, a row of three seats, and another row of three in the very back, but a low roof and the seats were pressed together. They all piled in, Lillian in the front next to Lance. Since Merlin, Lillian, and Gwen hadn't much hope for circling the country again, and Lance was the driver, it was decided they would go back north a different route than they'd gone down. After a few hours, girls curled up in their seats, Merlin letting Gwen take up more than her fair half of the seat between them, and fell asleep, leaving Lance and Merlin each in their own universe of thoughts.

"So that magic can't actually help locate us?" Lance asked quietly, breaking the silence. Merlin almost didn't hear him, but nodded and sighed.

"They indicate that you're alive," he answered. "The spell has been on so long, it's become a part of the object - the blood and even the glass. Too deep for me to easily break and alter. No forgery would even be able to melt the glass down."

"Factory," Lance said, catching Merlin's confused frown in the rearview mirror. "Don't have forges anymore, they're big square buildings with a ton of machines inside, called factories."

Merlin looked at his lap, and his voice was small. "There is so much I don't understand."

"We're going North," Lance said. "What's North?"

Merlin looked back up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Merlin's eyes were cobalt, sharp and piercing into Lance's. "I waited for him at Lake Avalon, but now I've been away so long. I have to return, especially now. If he wakes up, if he comes back and I'm not there...I...if after all this time…" Merlin trailed, but Lance could hear the boy's voice shake as his thoughts tumbled into guilt and fear.

"Easy, Merlin," Lance stopped him, voice still quiet but tone steady and strong. Merlin felt his chest fill with air, despite his mind slowly gathering the command to take deep breaths. He tried again, keeping himself in the present this time.

"I've kept the lake enchanted, so it's untouched," he explained. "I got lost here, so I don't know how to get back to it, but I know I was closer to Lilly and Gwen's school. And I'll feel my magic once I'm close enough. I thought that if I kept it the same, then if...when...he came, he'd feel safe. Something familiar, a place to rest and have before seeing this new world." Merlin smiled humorlessly to himself. "I've been here, knowing how much time has passed, and I'm still lost and scared."

"You have us," Lance responded after a moment, letting Merlin's words have their weight. "Lilly, Gwen, and I. And soon Gwaine," he recalled.

Merlin smiled into the mirror gratefully, and Lance returned it. They talked a bit more, Lance telling him about his life and trying to gently prod questions at Merlin. But the boy never spoke anything concrete. Lance wondered if either of the girls knew what Merlin meant by 'all this time', and 'over the years'. He didn't even mentioned any other place than Camelot and Lake Avalon. Not the village he'd grown up - where Lilly was from too. Not where else he'd ever been. Not even Gwen and Lilly's university where he'd found them.

Lance asked if he read any good books, Merlin said he'd read every book he owned more times than he'd cared to count. Lance asked if he knew of France, of the town Avallon where he'd grown up, but Merlin said he'd never been to France. Lance asked if there were any girls at home, wanting to kick himself right after, but Merlin just got a strange expression between a smile and as if he were going to cry before answering, "Not for a long time".

They drove the entire night, though no one had said it was necessary, Lance could sense the quiet, guilty urgency. As dawn spilled over the horizon, invading the night and breaking the indigo in favor of spreading lavender, it seemed to spear understanding into Lance's mind. Just as morning always follows night, such infallible logic, Lance wondered at his own blindness to the truth.

He looked into the rearview mirror again, his own eyes beginning to show the fog of drowsiness, and met Merlin's clear eyes. With the new light, Lance saw it. He was sure Gwen had seen it immediately, and even Lillian must have noticed. Merlin's eyes held no need for sleep, but the blue swirled with the different shades. It was a storm of days and hours, some mundane and some chaotic and forever remaining. Merlin's eyes were an infinite library that had long ago stopped being organized, and now was just towering, wobbling yet perfectly balanced stacks of crumbling parchment and dusty books, but the ink on every page was clear and black.

Lance saw into his own mind, saw eyes where the library was smaller and still had some form of organization, the storm only waves crashing on a grey-skyed shore. He wasn't sure where this memory came from, but it was clear and it was a memory.

"You're eyes are so old, Merlin," Lance said, and he saw in those eyes that Merlin knew that he understood. He seemed almost to have expected it. "You've always had older, wiser eyes, but now...they're ancient. You haven't been reincarnating like the rest, have you?"

Merlin was silent, he didn't need to shake his head for Lance to have his answer.

"You've been here, all this time," Lance breathed, "every century."

Merlin nodded. "Every day."


	29. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23: Pretty Faces and Old Souls**

A few hours after sunrise, they decided they didn't want to stop and try to rent hotel rooms for everyone, so Lance climbed into the very back row to sleep as Gwen took over driving. It would take a full day of driving to get to where they'd been able to roughly calculate Lake Avalon hid. Really, it was a pretty large circle drawn in Sharpie on the map.

Lillian was still sitting up front, studying the map and muttering directions and possible routes to Gwen. And hushed concerns about the cobalt eyes that stared unseeing through the window, the thin body that barely moved except to allow shallow breath. The commercial route they were on would take them away from their destination, so they had to get off and take a slower, but more accurate trip. It was just noon when they exited and drove through the first town, a small, remote place that couldn't have had a population larger than four thousand. The next two were similar, all along the four-lane cement road they were to follow for the day.

At mid-afternoon, they stopped in the middle of another town to fill the tank, Gwen and Lance handling the pump and money while Lillian tugged Merlin out of the car for some air and to stretch their legs. Merlin stepped around and took in the street, the gas station in the center of the town, but kept his fingertips skimming the car as though he'd be lost if he didn't keep contact.

"I'm dying of starvation, you torturers," Lillian declared before starting towards the sandwich shop she saw two buildings down the street.

"Ham and cheese, please," Lance called, and Gwen just assumed her friend would grab something she wouldn't mind. Gwen turned most of her attention back to Merlin, minding that he didn't wander into the street or get too uncomfortable. She kept her sigh quiet, but saw Lance look at her in the corner of her eye. This world scared him, and Gwen hated the guilty, nervous, uncomfortable boy he was here when her memories - increasing and becoming more clear by the day - knew a strong, clever man who had always carried a weight even greater than hers but had never let it crumble his edges. Now, he seemed so lost, so unsure.

Gwen was about to open her mouth to try to say something, and she knew it would be useless. She was spared, however, by Lillian's yelp. Alertness shot down her spine and yanked it straight, and Gwen looked up with narrowed eyes and a tensed body.

Lillian stood only a few feet away, halted in her walk by seemingly her own shock. Her eyes were wide, her mouth dropped open, and her whole body was facing across the street where the only other two people out were glancing at her, having heard her noise. Gwen stepped towards her warily, until she yelled without warning.

"Rowanna!" The two people across the street fully stopped and looked at her this time. The six people seemed to freeze for a moment, even Merlin, and then Gwen blinked and the girl was on their side of the street and standing with her faces inches from Lillian's.

The girls mirrored each other, eyes wide and mouths parted to let out shocked gasps. Gwen blinked. And they were hugging each other. Gwen felt Lance and Merlin at her shoulders and the three slowly took the last few steps until they were just behind their friend. The man who'd been standing across the street was also coming closer, though unlike their wary footsteps his steps were lazy and relaxed.

"Gwen, Gwen," Lillian's voice was broken by laughter as she continued to clutch the new girl's shoulders. "This is Rowanna - she's been in my dreams! She's one of us!"

Gwen hesitated, feeling no recognition even in her gut. She did not know this girl. She glanced at Lance, but he shrugged, and then at Merlin. Merlin looked at the girl with a small smile, his face a bit lighter than it had been this morning.

"To think we almost walked right by each other," Lillian giggled as Rowanna detached one arm from her and reached out. Merlin grasped her hand and squeezed, his smile widening and Gwen watched the friendship glow between the two.

"I can't believe it's you, it's really you isn't it? I was convinced we were just going bonkers," Rowanna gushed, looking between her two long lost friends. Then she pulled away slightly and called to the man approaching. "Oi, babe, you were bloody right!"

"Told you," a low, gravelly voice drawled. Gwen's heart tripped over itself as she looked into the face of the man. He was older than Lance, with thick hair that flopped into his face and matching dark facial hair thicker than Lance's shadow. Dark eyes peered through his hair, cataloguing every detail despite his lazy stance.

"About time you showed up," he drawled, looking straight at Merlin with a smirk. Merlin's smile could have rivaled the stars, Gwen was sure, as the boy straightened and launched himself forward to embrace the man. Gwen felt her own smile strain her cheeks, and felt an old warmth in her chest as she saw him.

"Who are you?" Lillian deadpanned, looking at Lance's, Gwen's, and Merlin's glowing expressions. The man unwrapped his arms from Merlin's shoulders and instead draped one around Rowanna, smiling at Lillian.

"Name's Gwaine," he stated, holding out his hand. Lillian didn't take it, instead just grinning and putting her hands on her hips.

"No way," she challenged excitedly. She glanced at Gwen, the girl's happy expression tinged with the same excitement. They might all be lost souls from Camelot or whatever, but every Classics major - no matter their level of interest - knew and adored Sir Gwaine. The man before her smirked proudly.

"Come on, you've got bloody Lancelot and I'm the one you doubt," he scoffed, gesturing at Lance. He looked to the man in question, smiling in silent greeting. Lillian and Rowanna watched the men, the happiness and fraternal bond nearly tangible between them. So this was the bond of the Knights of the Round Table, Lillian couldn't help but giggle in excitement. She looked at the girl, Rowanna, a girl she'd never met before and yet was her best friend for a time longer than most friendships could ever claim.

"You're not surprised," Lance said finally. Gwaine grinned.

"I've been dreaming of your pretty face for a year," he shrugged. "That long, that constant - can't be coincidence. I don't pretend to understand the world, I just accept it with less of a fight than other idiots."

Lance chuckled. "Well said. So you two?"

"Yep," Rowanna chirped. "Been with him since I was in high school. When he first told me about the dreams I thought he'd lost it, but a few months later and mine were similar. When the same boy," she nodded to Merlin, "started showing up in both our dreams, figured it was something." Lillian and she laughed.

"Parents weren't too happy," Gwaine winked. Lance just shook his head, failing to stifle his laughter. Gwaine saw Gwen's frown and explained. "Bit of an age difference, four years. Now, it's not so bad, but when she was seventeen…" he trailed, smiling in mock-innocence.

They all began trading stories and catching up, falling into comfort the way only familiars could. Gwaine, however, deftly extricated himself and moved to Merlin, who had been watching silently while his eyes glowed with emotion. Gwaine didn't say anything, just stood near enough that his friend felt his presence. He pulled out his phone but kept it low, but the boy knew nothing as his fingers flew over the screen quickly before putting the small black object back into his pocket. Merlin spoke after only a moment.

"You're all here, and you all remember," he said quietly, and Gwaine wondered if he was actually talking to him. Still, he nodded.

"I remember everything," he said. "Camelot, Arthur, you...Morgana. Then, I remember more. I remember being a kid, multiple times. I remember you as an old man, I remember your magic. You only told me about it in another life," Gwaine thought aloud. Merlin nodded, closing his eyes as he listened. Gwaine wondered guiltily if he was hurting him with these memories, but figured sharing was better.

"If Gwen ever came back, I never met her. Same with the girls," Merlin said. Gwaine didn't need an explanation, as an image of tiny glass and glowing red flashed in his mind. A distant memory, of only one conversation that took only a moment. "You came back, but you never remembered like you do now. Nothing, not even a hint of recognition," Merlin's voice cracked, but not in blame.

"Lance?" Gwaine asked. "Anyone...anyone else?" Merlin shook his head.

"Lancelot and Morgana a couple times, but I never met them," he answered. That was all. He was quiet again, but soon Gwaine was prodding him.

"There's something else. Come on, Merlin," he murmured, knowing his friend needed the coaxing.

Merlin's heart was painful as it was strained by its own swelling. It felt odd to see Gwaine again, and his coming had stirred perhaps the largest variety of emotions. Happiness, of course, he'd always been happy to find his friend in the lifetimes he'd come near the lake. Relief and anticipation, for this meant he was that much closer to reuniting Avalon. But the vision was wrong, in the way that flowers with green petals looked wrong. Natural and beautiful, the sight should have inspired happiness and even contentment, but it didn't, it wasn't the sight Merlin knew it should have been, the sight he found himself actively desiring.

"Someone is missing," he said, his lips barely moving.

"A lot of people are missing," Gwaine countered. Merlin sighed, narrowing his eyes and trying to summon annoyance. "Come on, Merlin," Gwaine half-growled, needing his friend to have some of his old fire instead of this sad, quiet person.

"Do you have a sister?" he tried. Gwaine hadn't actually expecting this question, his eyes widening slightly in surprise as he answered anyway.

"She was with us up until a couple months ago, but turned eighteen and wanted to try her own hand," Gwaine said offhandedly, laughing at his headstrong sister. It trailed as he frowned, and his hands flexed slightly against his upper thighs, thumbs hooking into his pockets. "Not sure where she is now exactly, haven't heard from her in a bit over a week."

Their parents had always been moving about every other year, but they'd died right when Gwaine had turned eighteen, and the siblings had just kept up the pattern. They were both comfortable that way, it made making friends a bit difficult but neither cared in the long run. The longest they'd ever stayed in one place was when they had met Rowanna and stayed until she'd finished school. It felt natural to let her go travel herself, Gwaine knew better than anyone that she could handle herself - and insisted upon doing so. Suddenly, however, he felt unbalanced and utterly _wrong_ without her with him.

Turns out, Lance's car was nice and roomy. Until six of the eight seats were filled by fully grown, young adults, who then were to sit in them for another several hours. Gwen drove, though Lance commented several times to "ease up the lead foot, please" and Merlin threw him confused, unanswered glances. Gwaine sat back against the window and Rowanna nestled comfortably against him in the very back seats, and Lillian and Lance were in the middle row often turning around to talk to them. There was room, but the unacknowledged antsiness in the car was more due to the length of time in it. It was both too long and too short.

For a few hours they'd talked, comparing modern lives and dreams alike, and then for a few hours they'd slept. Gwen and Merlin hadn't, but now Merlin was recognizing his surroundings and Gwen didn't want to stop.

"Are you nervous?" Gwen murmured quietly enough that the other four didn't hear her over their conversation - though Lance and Gwaine were joking and laughing loudly anyway. Only Merlin, sitting shotgun as he'd learned, heard, and it was only directed to him. He swallowed, keeping his face turned towards the road cutting through empty plains before them. Gwen glanced to him just to see him nod.

Maybe he didn't want to talk about it, but she did. Gwen nervous had never been silent, but fidgety and babbling. "I remember him in my dreams. I...I feel how I felt. And I know we're...them, or reincarnates of them, or whatever, but I didn't grow up in Camelot or with you now. I grew up outside London, and then went to university in Cumbria. I just…" she trailed, trying to find the words.

"What?" Merlin prompted, a bit sharply.

"What if he is there? What if...what if we see him, and ..." Gwen sighed, her grip on the wheel tightening until her knuckles paled.

"What if he's not?" Merlin said suddenly, his tone sounding as though he'd just tossed the words out, but one spared glance revealed an entirely different scene. His whole face was paler than usual, lips pressed tightly together in a thin line, eyes blazing. Gwen felt her body freeze with the force of realization.

"You're scared too," she sighed. Then, she laughed weakly. "I'm scared we will come to the end of this crazy trip and have conclusive proof that all this impossible stuff - reincarnation, dreams, Camelot - is really true. And you're scared that nothing will happen," she paused, letting the rest of the words flow through her mind as if they were given to her, instead of thinking them herself. "Because nothing has happened in a long time."

He nodded. If nothing happened, then everything - finally leaving the lakeside, meeting and talking to the universe's newest of his long lost friends, speaking words he'd long forbade himself to say - would all be for naught.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, realizing how her thoughts must sound to him. Her eyes flitted upwards, both as a guilty habit and to suppress the emotion building behind them. She saw the rearview mirror, where Lance and Lilly leaned against each other in their sleep and Gwaine frowned as he pulled a black phone away from his head and looked down at it. But Merlin smiled gently.

"I'm not angry," he assured. "I don't know exactly how you feel, we've had such different courses. But I don't believe it's exactly easy for you either," his smile grew, turning crooked and Gwen felt herself mirror it. She laughed again, short but a bit more strongly.

"Whatever does happen, we won't abandon you, Merlin," she said, eyes soft but shining with truth. He nodded and tilted his chin down.

"Thanks," he said. Gwaine guffawed at something, and Merlin looked back quickly to see his friend's dark eyes light up and his cheeks turn just a tiny bit pink from laughter. Then he pinned Gwen with cerulean eyes, without fear or sadness but filled completely with curiosity. "Do you worry about what seeing him will be like?"

Gwen nodded. "He's Arthur, I'm Guinevere. But what if I see him and I don't...I mean, I remember him, he's always in my dreams and there, I feel…" she sighed, resisting the urge to put her face in her hands since she was driving.

Merlin, to her surprise, smiled, still without fear or sadness. "I've no doubt it'll be a bit odd. But...it's not the details in your life, like university and what city you were born in now. It's your souls. You're exactly the Gwen I knew then," Merlin's voice was thick, but Gwen hoped he didn't stop as she found herself hanging onto each syllable. "After everything, I must believe that your souls will find each other, will recognize each other. Your minds might have to take some time catching up to them, but destiny has always found a way for me to be exactly where I needed to be, and exactly when. It will work the same with you."

Gwen stared at the road, the plains and towns having fallen away, and the grey concrete had fallen away a few minutes ago to show dirt road. She watched the trees thicken and the world outside the windshield seem to grow and change, as though they drove through time instead of the one country. It was a full twenty minutes before she spoke.

"Do you really believe that?" she looked at Merlin, whose eyes were wide and spine straight. He didn't answer, and Gwen noticed the entire car had fallen silent. She looked back at the road, and her breath hitched when the dirt just stopped, the car stopping along with it. She hadn't hit the brakes.

Lilly's spine was immediately straight as she yanked herself from sleep, dragging Lance partially with her. His chocolate eyes were still fogged with sleep, but his mouth was in a grim line and his shoulders were hunched slightly. Gwaine frowned, letting his phone slip through his fingers and onto his lap as Rowanna leaned into him slightly, both trying to look out the front from their faraway seats.

All six sat and stared, Gwen wasn't even sure if everyone was breathing. She knew she wasn't. The front of the car had pushed tall, overgrown grass, and the yellow and green strands tangled and collapsed on each other far enough that they would see the surface, smooth as a mirror, of a lake that did not exist on any map. Not even the one they'd drawn on to try to find their way. The water seemed black as ink against the setting sun that lit the sky on fire and pierced the surrounding trees. It all looked untouched, as if satellites or airplanes or even cell phone signals had never flown over it.

The only thing marring the smooth lake and its identically smooth shore was the figure with broad shoulders standing in front of it, the dying sunlight gleaming against silver and gold.

Merlin answered Gwen. "Yes, I do."


	30. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24: Reconciliation**

It was almost wrong.

The lake had been so ardently hidden for so many centuries, it was a bit surprising the whole land didn't crack and shake at the car's invasion, or the sudden mass population compared to its previous singular inhabitant. The sky didn't rain fire, the clouds weren't even darker than a pale grey, and the ground did not split open and swallow so much as an insect. Nature didn't seem to react, the universe didn't seem to care.

Merlin had spent so long waiting and watching and carefully studying the shore for even a hint of disturbance, that the man suddenly standing there blocked too much light, and the lines of his figure did not blend into the water the way the dirt and plants did. So many days of an empty world, and now it was too crowded.

It was Lillian who spoke first. Not the two knights whose souls had been waiting patiently, fighting valiantly in the secret name of their leader. Not his soulmate queen, who had awakened only for him. Not the man who had the power to live eternally, and had spent that eternity at the site of his grave in wait.

"Arthur," she called, stepping slowly so that she stood in front of the knights and Rowanna, but just behind Merlin and Gwen. The blonde head twitched slightly, as he probably turned it to face the girl speaking to him, but the setting sun threw his face into shadow. "You must be a bit confused."

He nodded, light bouncing off his golden hair as it moved. Lillian made a sort of hum, somehow between a coo and a giggle, before Gwen yelped at Merlin's side. His cobalt eyes widened slightly, tugging him just out of his stupor enough to remember that others were beside him, as Gwen leaned forward and frowned. The brunette rubbed the back of her shoulder where Lillian had not-so-gently punched her, urging her to step forward.

Gwen's voice shook and she felt far too awkward to even breath. "Hello, Arthur," she started. "We...we've come to...well, to meet you, I suppose," she tried, biting her lip.

"Guinevere," the voice was raspy and quiet, but not from uncertainty. Gwen found herself sure of this conclusion, and her head nodded rapidly without her consent. He sounded the opposite actually, when he said her name, as though it was the only thing he _was_ certain of. Her knees buckled as she took hurried, uncalculated steps toward him.

She half-fell into him, but arms wrapped around her shoulders and waist and her legs hardly needed to work. Her body wasn't quite touching his, just centimeters away, but she could feel warmth radiating from his chest and the dips and hills of his arms around her felt as though they'd been molded specifically for every line of hers.

"Guinevere," he said again, his breath tickling her face as he made no other move to get closer to her. He just held her balanced, and murmured her name once more and Gwen held still as she catalogued it all. She had never met this man in her twenty-one years of life, never seen him on the street or in a class, never even as a suggestion on Facebook or even a person who looked just like him. And yet standing close to him felt warmer, safer, and better than her childhood bed, or her favorite cozy little sweets shop in her hometown, or sitting in the car with her brother and dad on the way to the beach.

"Arthur," she responded quietly, and she realized her eyes were closed when she felt rather than saw him smile. She hastily opened them though, wanting to see his pink lips stretch and part slightly to reveal white teeth, and his diamond blue eyes sparkle and crinkle at the corners. She knew this image, predicted these pieces before she saw them.

His palms were rough but gentle as they slid up the sides of her neck and cupped her jaw, his thumbs similar as they rubbed her cheeks. Gwen noticed his fingers on her face felt wet, too. He tilted his head and leaned back to look into her eyes, and his amazed smile fell into a smirk. He continued wiping the tears, and his eyes left hers for barely a second to look down her body.

"Something seems to have changed," he remarked, smirk in place and his voice unexpectedly light. He didn't sound scared, just confused and patient for her explanation. Gwen finally felt soft sobs tumble in her chest, and her eyes stung as a few more tears fell. He frowned, but the smirk was far from completely washed away. He silently prompted her to explain.

"It's been so long," Gwen said, and she felt for Merlin, who'd waited longer than anyone. The man standing before her could finally fix him, and Gwen's heart felt as though it would claw its way out of her chest - in the most pleasant-feeling way. "You've been gone so long, Arthur."

He nodded, smirk dropping as the corners of his lips turned down. "Tell me what's happened, Guinevere," he murmured. She smiled then, placing her hands against his cheeks and revelling in the tiny stubble that failed to defend the soft skin. "You're wearing very tight pants," he added, his voice cracking slightly then. She giggled, but her growing smile fell as she prepared to tell him the truth.

"Arthur...it's been very long," she said, unsure exactly how to say it. His eyes were focused on her, taking in every word and carefully processing them. "You died," he nodded, but otherwise did not react. "It's been centuries," she said carefully, watching him.

He nodded, and Gwen could practically see the gears in his mind ticking behind his eyes. He looked down at her body, then at his, still clad in armor with a golden lion across his chest. It felt like years before he smiled a bit sheepishly. "Suppose it's not very kingly to keep people waiting so long."

"Merlin's been waiting for you, more than any of us," Gwen said, smiling and letting one hand drop and the other slide to wrap around his arm, not daring to let go lest he slip away. She turned and began to step back up the dirt and grass, to the group of people still standing as statues. Arthur followed easily, falling into step without her even having to tug him forward.

Merlin stood the closest, and Gwen felt a spike of shame at having run to the man first. It was Merlin who had withstood every day, every year, every century, while she had been blissfully unaware for all but three days. But when they reached him, his pale face and cobalt eyes held nothing of anger or contempt, or even impatience. In fact, he just seemed dazed, as if his mind couldn't think of what to do and had just fled the impossible scene, leaving the shell to stare and wait for the apparition to disappear.

Arthur stepped slightly in front of Gwen, his arm slipping down to entangle their fingers but otherwise his attention was solely on Merlin. He studied him, a crease appearing between his brows and his lips pursing. Gwen wondered if he noticed the changes in Merlin, wondered if he was trying to think of a way to help him, or if he was simply reminding himself of who Merlin was. Then, he smiled.

"I hope you've been taking this time to get better at chores," Arthur said finally, his eyes slightly wide but his face held no expression. Merlin's eyes flickered and he seemed to return to himself and look at the golden man in front of him.

"I've done more than enough chores for a lifetime," he said quietly, frowning at Arthur. Arthur grinned and moved forward, wrapping his arms around the boy.

"More than one lifetime, so I've heard," he murmured in his ear, and Gwen smiled as she watched thin arms wrap shakily around Arthur's broad shoulders.

The two pulling away, both blinking rapidly and sniffing a bit, seemed to be the cue as Gwaine and Lance were yanking Arthur between their embraces and slaps on the back, both talking over each other into his and Merlin's and Gwen's ears. Gwen watched with a smile, stepping back a bit to give them some room (Gwaine would definitely accidentally whack her), and watched as Arthur smiled and tried to listen, but never moved away from Merlin. Finally, the king laughed and spoke loudly, and everyone immediately was silent for him.

"One at a time please," he said, his voice a bit apologetic. But still not scared. "I'm sure you all have much to say, and I'm sure it's all unique. I've missed quite a lot, haven't I?"

Gwaine laughed and opened his mouth, but snapped it shut at Merlin's quiet, thick voice. "They've all been reincarnating, living lifetimes around the world. None remembered anything, but they've remained the same people. Always. They remember now," his words were slow and clear, but not sharp and meant no harm. Arthur nodded, still smiling softly.

"Where were you, all this time?" he asked evenly. Merlin's blazing eyes locked with his.

"Here," he said, his voice strong though tears began to spill from his eyes. "I grew old and I died, but I woke up the next morning alive, and restarted the years. And I never left this lake, until it was time to find them so we could be here for you."

Merlin looked down and grit his teeth, and Gwen's heart broke as she watched him try to reconcile everything. She couldn't imagine it, waiting so long, watching the world go by, all for one man to walk out of his own gravesite.

"Well then, Merlin," Arthur declared, his shoulders straightening and his chin tilting up. Gwen recognized the pose, and bit down her laugh. "You are the most loyal, greatest friend and man who has ever lived. I doubt this century with its tight girls' pants has knightings anymore - not that you'd want that anyway," Arthur paused and frowned as he considered. "Not sure I'd still knight you anyway. Doubt you've been fighting all this time."

"You prat," Merlin gasped, his smile ear to ear despite the water still trickling from his eyes. Arthur looked at him and grinned victoriously. Arthur embraced him again, launching himself - all brawn and full set of medieval armor - at the lean boy and nearly making him fall. Gwen let out a laugh, and it mixed with Gwaine's guffaws and Lance's chuckles, and Rowanna's and Lillian's giggles and shrieks to be careful of their poor friend.

"I'm sorry?" Arthur prompted, releasing Merlin and holding out a hand to the girls. They smiled identically, but Rowanna curtsied while Lillian just grabbed his hand and shook it, smirking at the surprise on his face.

"Lilly, and this is Rowanna," Lillian said. "We were friends of Merlin's in Ealdor," Arthur nodded in understanding, but snuck a smirking glance at Gwen when Gwaine stepped behind Rowanna and wrapped his arms around her.

Gwen stepped closer and took his hand again, whispering in his ear, "You should see Lillian with Lance. Him, I'm not surprised about. Her," Gwen trailed, grinning mischievously.

"I return from the dead not half an hour, and you're already playing matchmaker with our friends," Arthur teased. Gwen had just enough time to retort, "cheeky," and push him lightly before Gwaine was calling the old king's name.

The sun had set hours ago, but the seven people, with bodies so young but minds and eyes so very old, sat in front of Lance's car a few yards from the edge of the water. Lance had pulled out a blanket from the back and they all sat on it, huddled close for a number of reasons: warmth, it was a small blanket, and the residual fear that if even one strayed too far, this would all disappear,. Gwen, Lance, and Lilly each held a flashlight, flicking them about in each other's faces and out onto the lake, watching the white lights skim the mirror-smooth blackness.

"I was in that for how many years?" Arthur stated incredulously, staring at the water with distaste. Gwen laughed quietly and nestled her head further into the crook of his neck.

"Too bloody long, mate," Gwaine sighed, shaking his head. The whole evening and night had been a mix of happiness and melancholy, but it was surprising how natural the balance. Arthur looked over at Lance sitting next to him, Lilly sitting with her side against his. Arthur restrained himself from commenting, but did give Gwen a squeeze of acknowledgement.

"So, Lancelot," he started, eyes bright. "What did you get up to? I'm sure Gwaine just spent all his lives drinking and flirting, Rowanna and Lilly told me theirs, and this is Gwen's first time back," arthur summarized, looking to Gwen who nodded in confirmation. They'd all been telling him stories of the past lives they remembered, only a bit had they already told each other but everyone still had more to hadn't said much, but he hadn't wanted to when Arthur had looked at him questioningly. "Way too boring and long," the boy had dismissed, but they let him be. He had explained how he'd known who was alive, and and how he'd wandered for the better part of a week like some drunk fool when he first looked for Gwen and Lilly.

"Oi, why you picking on the smart one?" Gwaine smirked in mock-offense. Lance punched his arm, and he groaned in very real pain.

"I fought a few wars," Lance said evenly, brown eyes soft and admiring as always. "Every time, just tried to have a code and stick to it. Be a good person," he shrugged humbly.

"Yeah, Lance the saint," Lilly teased, countering his mock-offended expression with a daring smirk.

"Why's Lance's life more interesting than mine? He fought with pretty banners and got showered in roses, I got clever and made a spoon into a weapon," Gwaine whined. Arthur sighed, as though indulging a whiny child. Which wasn't such a far-off comparison.

"Gwaine, please tell me, whatever did you do?" Arthur asked, stressing the 'please'. Gwaine smirked casually, but it fell as he thought.

"Always wandering about," he began. "Bit mean of the gods I'd think, always making us lose our parents. That kind of life just sets you up for fun, though."

Arthur laughed loudly. "So you spent all your lives drinking and flirting," he shouted, his arms raising as if to draw attention to his point. Gwaine shrugged.

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it," he said easily, though his brow was still furrowed in thought and he glanced down, to his side where Arthur didn't see. "I met Merlin during my last one, though. Became friends all over again, we did." His smile was genuine and soft, no trace of his usual teasing or playfulness.

"You knew who he was?" Gwen asked, a bit sharply. Not that it would have done anything, without Arthur's return, but perhaps the sapphire-eyed boy wouldn't have always been so lonely.

"No," Merlin answered quietly. They looked at him, but his eyes were focused on his hands on his lap and he didn't show any signs of speaking again. So, Gwaine continued for him.

"Apparently, we lived near him as children for a time, but then left and I didn't actually meet him until I was older," Gwaine mused aloud. Gwen asked what he meant, and Gwaine inhaled before he spoke.

Merlin thought he could enjoy this, thought he could sit and be with them all. And he did, and it felt so good. And then, he thought he could just sit quietly through it, half-listen and let the others hear the story because they did not know and it was not fair to not allow it. But as soon as Gwaine spoke - not just the story now, but as soon as he even spoke during Lance's brief summary- Merlin knew he couldn't do it. As if he sat in a glass dome and it shattered, the pieces not cutting him or even causing noise, but just the vision and reality of the destruction.

He stood silently, really not trying to draw everyone's eyes to him and Gwaine's voice trailed and grew muffled as Merlin detached himself. The talking might have started up again, might have now been about him because he knew Gwen had been throwing him constant looks of concern and apprehension. But Merlin just stepped around the car and into the treeline, not directly where the car came from, but after a time his footsteps paralleled the dirt path.

It was silent, not even small animals or insects scuffled about and made their existence fathomable. Merlin's boots crunched over wet leaves but he registered no slips or sounds himself.

It wasn't complete, his mind continued to spin to itself. It wasn't complete. It wasn't complete. Of course not, the entire kingdom had not in fact risen from the lake and the ground and overturned the cities. Complete was not a goal to strive for.

The leaves under his feet thinned from piles to scattered individuals, and the grass looked silvery now that the moonlight reached it without trees obstructing it. Merlin walked just off the path, just dirt cleared of the grass that grew shorter than along the lake but still longer than the yards Merlin had seen from Lance's car.

Gwen sighed as Merlin hadn't returned for the better part of half an hour, but Arthur's presence and voice kept her calm. If he was still talking to their friends, still sitting instead of stomping through nature in the direction Merlin had wandered, then there couldn't be much cause to worry. She wondered if the boys still shared the same connection, now that Merlin was so old and Arthur was still so young, if they could still read each other's glances and react exactly to each other's movements.

Lance's cheeks were showing the barest hint of pink mottling the tan skin, and he thanked his stars that it was too dark for the silly, sharp-tongued, far-too-pretty-to-play-fair girl beside him to see. Still, he felt like she knew anyway because she made yet another comment that if he really was oh so noble, he must also be a virgin. Even Rowanna didn't blush at it and Lance was extremely envious.

Rowanna giggled at the joke, but didn't bother to even try to admonish her ages-old friend. She discreetly reached back for Gwaine's fingers when she heard his huff, and felt something smooth and cool brush their entwined fingers.

Gwaine scowled at the innocently smooth, black phone, as if its blank screen had permanently offended him.

The dirt had molded into concrete, but Merlin felt none of his usual timidity in the face of yet another modern item. He didn't notice, didn't care that the dark horizon was interrupted by lights other than stars and fires. He just kept walking, though he doubted his feet would solve his impossible, petty concerns. He had no business sulking. Arthur had returned, his friends lived to remember him and _he wasn't alone anymore_. But it wasn't right.

His eyes finally focused on another interruption of the skyline. A figure walked on the side of the road, not touching the grey and brown cement just as Merlin did. A head and shoulders, thin ones, but farther than that the silhouette blended into the night. No direction, no indication. Merlin looked back down, and the figure would either disappear as a trick of his eyes or some other random, lost soul would wander by him just the same.

"Merlin?" the sound pierced the world and shook Merlin's core. The voice was so familiar, yet so lost and painful to him, that it was just that - a sound. A process of his mind.

But then his vision tilted from his toes to the ground just before them, and then to pale colors washed in the open moonlight. She walked to him, caramel hair and light skin of her exposed throat and shoulders bathed in blue and silver, and stood still. Her eyes were wide, and Merlin felt his face imitate her stunned silence. They stood, and Merlin just looked at her, unsure if she was real but not daring to disrupt the mirage anyway.

Gwaine tilted the flashlight up under his own chin, trying to appear scary but the light caught on his facial hair. Gwen laughed as Lilly referenced jolly St. Nick instead of whatever Gwaine was trying to be. Arthur gingerly took the flashlight from his hand, studying it as he realized he had no idea how it worked. The others only laughed harder as he shook it, and he yelped when he tried to look into the bulb. Gwen lay her fingers on his shoulder comfortingly.

She moved first, and Merlin's eyes widened even more – if possible – when her fingers were tugging just above his ears, clutching skin and hair alike. But he didn't have time to register the discomfort before pressure was on his mouth, soft and cool as the silks he once folded long ago, but strong enough that he dared not to pull away. Not that he would.

Lance frowned a bit as he noticed the time, and he shuffled as nervous energy began to slowly flow into his limbs. He voiced his concern, but it was Arthur who denied him. But Arthur knew, Arthur always knew, and so the group of friends listened.

Merlin's eyes slid closed and sparks shot through his hands. Everything seemed to snap, and Merlin was no longer unaware, no longer numb. Seconds ticked as he clumsily reigned in this new energy, inhaling and gathering it to his chest before channeling it all into responding to the girl kissing him. Every morning he'd woken up, young again, he'd felt the rush of physical energy that came with the newfound youth. But never like this. This was as though his mind and soul were rejuvenating as well, and his arms no longer felt heavy with the weight of centuries as he wrapped them around her tiny frame.

He was sure he was messing it up. His teeth hit hers a couple times, and he couldn't rationally explain anything in that moment if someone were to ask. But she didn't pull away, her fingers just wrapped tighter into his hair. Gold seeped into the blackness behind his closed eyelids, and he felt the warmth of his blood through his veins.

When she finally pulled away, breathing heavily, Merlin's first instinct was to chase her lips. She laughed, the sound small and catching halfway in her throat, and Merlin felt his smile stretch his cheeks ridiculously as they rested their foreheads against each other. His hands ran where they were around her back; her hair was messy but soft under his palm, the tips of her hair tickling his wrists when his palms then met the soft wool of her sweater. Keeping one hand between her shoulder blades, her spine curving under the sweater, his other trailed up under her hair, along the back of her neck, and came to rest on her shoulder where the sweater slipped and exposed her smooth, cool skin.

"I knew…something happened," she breathed, and Merlin opened his eyes to see hers still shut. A small crease was between her frowning eyebrows. "I'm not entirely sure, but I just had to come find you."

Merlin pressed his lips to the crease, feeling it smooth, and his arms tightened around her.

"Susetthe," he breathed, his smile widening even more. His cheeks ached, and his eyes stung, and his body felt stretched with the energy filling it to the seams. But he didn't care. She was here, she was really here. It could be complete now.

As if hearing his thoughts, she opened her eyes and smiled. "I'm here," she said. Merlin took a few steps backwards, tugging her in his embrace until she laughed as they tripped over each other. She stepped away form him, but continuing in the direction he'd come from, slipping her hand into his. "Let's go see them?" she prompted, eyebrows raised.

"What?" Merlin asked, not entirely sure how she knew what she seemed to be referring to. She rolled her eyes.

"Gwaine's been calling and texting me nonstop," Susetthe explained. Merlin didn't totally know what that meant, but understood enough. Gwaine had been contacting her. "He's told me everything—Arthur's back, we're not the only ones with very particular dreams and memories," her eyes softened, "that you finally left."

Merlin nodded. They began walking, back up the road, Merlin letting his body follow her fingers in his.

"I always knew there was more to it than just dreams, I've been having them since I was little," she smirked proudly, and Merlin grinned. Of course she had. Her last lifetime she hadn't doubted him either. From now on, he'd make sure she never had a reason to.

He was still silent, so she smiled softly at him again. "We're finally the right age, you know." He swallowed at the glint in her eye. "Now, I want to go meet Arthur."

He nodded again, and walked by her side, next to the concrete road until it turned into dirt, and then it turned into nothing. The sky was lightening by the time the road broke and Merlin's enchanted place revealed itself to them. The inky sky was streaked with fire and blood, but also with gold and a blue as pale as Susetthe's eyes. The car parked on the edge didn't look out of place, nor did the six people sitting beside it, who slowly realized their arrival and stared. Some didn't know the girl at Merlin's side, or their history, but they all saw the identical happy expressions and intertwined fingers, so they all smiled.

*Fin*


End file.
